LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. Copyris^ht No..,IaE. 

Shelf 1:^.0 I 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



HARVEST-TIDE 



HARVEST-TIDE 

A BOOK OF VERSES 

By sir lewis MORRIS, Knt., M. A. 
M 




NEW YORK 
T. Y. CROWELL & COMPANY 

1901 



CoPYiixGHT, lUOO, BY T. Y. Chowell & Co. 



HHH12 



Llbpeipy of Conffpaw 

Two Copies Received 
DEC 15 1900 

Copyright artry 

SECOND COPY 
(Mlvanid to 

OKDEK OiVISiON 

DEC Q8 1000 



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Composition and electrotype plates by D. B. Updike 
The Merrymount Press, Boston 



PREFACE 

The rvriter is reminded hy the date on the title-page 
that he is no longer a writer of the nineteenth century 
alone. Possibly this should lead him to undertake not 
to trespass again upon the indulge7ice of readers whose 
good-will he has had to . acknowledge repeatedly for 
ahnost a whole generation' Bid ii is perhaps too early 
even now to announce his definite ' retirement from the 
literary field. In any case, conscious as he is of his 
limitations, and knowing well that contemporary criti- 
cism of verse, favoiirable or otherwise, is seldom of 
much value towards fixing its permanent position, he 
can recall 7vith satisfaction that he has th?-oughout 
endeavoured to follow the honoured traditions of 
English poetry. Nor is he conscious of ever having 
written a line withoid believing then that he had some- 
thing to say which demanded expression, w which he 
could wish unwritten now. 

Penbryn, January 1st, 1901. 



CONTENTS 



To Venus, the Evening Star 


page 
1 


The CoxMing of the Muse 


3 


Le Vent de L' Esprit 


6 


Remember 


8 


A New Orphic Hyjin 


9 


On a Flock of Birds Flying Southward by Night 12 


For a School Magazine 


14 


Faith 


17 


Between the Mountains and the Sea 


18 


Ah ! WAS IT I ? 


24 


The Earth's Easter-Tide 


26 


TEDIUM VlT^ 


27 


The March op Man 


29 


The Freeing op Crete 


43 


Christmas, 1898 


47 


Christmas, 1899 


49 


On an Empty House 


52 


Life-Music 


65 


In Memory op Two Friends 


57 


On a Sculptor who Died Young 


61 


Ver non Semper Viret 


62 


On a Memorial Organ 


64 


vii 





CONTENTS 





page 


The Diamond Jubilee 


05 


Renewal 


70 


Terra Domus 


71 


A Georgian Romance 


72 


Whither? 


95 


By Towy-Side 


98 


Pilgrims 


101 


An Old Poet 


103 


In Praise of Night 


105 


On an Old Statesman 


106 


On a Young Statesman 


109 


Lydstep Caa'erns 


111 


Lux IN Tenebris 


115 


On the Thames Embankment 


116 


In Praise op December Evenings 


120 


The Union of Hearts 


122 


Sir Galahad 


127 


A Carol 


129 


At the Popular Concerts 


131 


Shine Clear, Shine Bright 


133 


In Memoriam 


134 


Dark Rays 


137 


For Britain. A Soldier's Song. December 1899 


138 


From Dawn to Eve 


142 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

On a Birthday 143 

A Fragment 140 

Armed Peace 148 

The Fortunes of Britain 151 

In Another Album 155 

Apologia 157 

Sherborne 160 

Rhyme^ the Consoler 165 

A Vision 167 



HARVEST-TIDE 
A BOOK OF VERSES 

TO VENUS, THE EVENING STAR 

Pure orb serene that sliinest still 

Tho' youth be fled and Spring-time done, 

And dreary Autumn, dark and chill, 
Obscure our brief days' waning sun. 
Oh Love, oh radiant Star ! 



Shine forth, and all is peace and light, 
Tho' the sun sink and with him life ! 

Hide, and the deadly gloom of night 

Descends, with hate, and wrong, and strife. 
Oh Love, oh radiant Star ! 



Not thine the glare of garish noon. 

Nor fever-heats of wild desire. 
Nor craters of the ghostly moon 
Silvered with dead phosphoric fire, 
Oh Love, oh i-adiant Star ! 
1 



HARVEST-TIDE 

But glowing, pure, with primrose flame, 
Steadfast as virgin-glances are, 

Thro' life's swift seasons still the same 
Light thou our heavenward pathway far. 
Oh Love, oh radiant Star ! 



THE COMING OF THE MUSE 

The shy Muse, rarely seen, at times 
Floats down yet will not stay, 

But hides her unembodied rhymes 
Far, far away. 

From out the blank unpeopled page 
There shines no vision fair 

And on the poet's noble rage 
Broods cold despair. 

In vain to toil, in vain to strive. 
Efforts and vows are naught : 

No favouring impulse comes to drive 
The lagging thought. 

Then sudden, 'mid the darkling chill, 
Dead hope and strivings vain, 

A ghostly radiance seems to fill 
His heart and brain. 

Far off and thin, translucent, white, 
His straining eyeballs trace, 
3 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Half-hidden, a phantom of delight, 
A sweet veiled face. 

And straight, 't is Life, 't is Youth, 't is Spring 

Tliat comes his toil to cheer ; 
Blithe Fancy spreads a joyous wing — 

''The Muse is here." 

O'er foam-flowered wave, o'er snow-clad hill. 

She floats, or vernal grove ; 
His happy eyes warm tear-drops fill 

Of Faith and Love. 

Now from the Sunset beckons she, 
Now from the Dawn's clear rose, 

And sadly now, now joyously. 
Sings as she goes ; 

Now through the thick life-laden air. 

Along the city street. 
Fleeting, she draws divinely fair. 

His faithful feet ; 

Now o'er the Palace, now the Jail, 
Lives gilded, lives undone, 
4 



THE COMING OF THE MUSE 

Lives laughter-lit^ or those that wail^ 
She hovers on ; 

And with her takes the poet's mind, 
And heart and soul and will ; 

Where'er she leads, a wandering wind. 
He follows, follows still ! 



LE VENT DE L'ESPRIT 

The wind that sighs before the dawn 

Chases the gloom of night. 
The curtains of the East are drawn 

And suddenly — 'tis light. 

A faint breath wakes the slumbering seas. 
Peaks, plains, and forests dim, 

The brave birds 'mid the rustling trees 
Raise a glad morning hymn. 

And all the waiting world around 

Adores the coming sun. 
New warmth and life, new cheerful sound. 

New destinies begun. 

So on the old familiar earth. 

As on the faintest star, 
Where'er a new life comes to birth 

The Spirit's breathings are. 

Thro' the soul's dim recesses dark 
They move ere yet 'tis day, 
6 



LE VENT DE L'ESPRIT 

And she even as the faithful lark 
Awaking-, soars away. 

They blow, they stir the voiceless deep 
With winds of fruitful strife, 

And from the chills of Death and Sleep 
Draw warmth and liffht and life. 



REMEMBER 

The swift hours fleet, the brief days steal the years. 
There seems scant space for laughter or for tears — 
Remember ! 

The seasons press, Spring hastens. Summer flies, 
A flash, and Autumn fades in wintry skies — 
Remember ! 

This truth alone, upon your soul keep graven. 
Beyond the imminent deep, there lies a haven 
For ever ! 

Whither, unchecked by life's impatient surges 
A Power, a Hand, a Voice eternal urges 
For ever ! 

There, comes not Time nor Change but Peace and Rest, 
And blessed Contemplation of the Best — 
Remember ! 



A NEW ORPHIC HYMN 

The stars, the skies, the peaks, the deeps of the fatliom- 

less seas. 
Immanent is He in all, yet higher and deeper than 

these. 

The heart, and the mind, and the soul, the thoughts 

and the yearnings of man, 
Of His essence are one and all, and yet define it who 

can? 

The love of the Right, tho' cast down, the hate of vic- 
torious 111, 

All are sparks from the central fire of a boundless 
beneficent will. 

Oh, mystical secret of Nature, great Universe unde- 
fined. 

Ye are part of the infinite work of a mighty ineffable 
Mind. 

Beyond your limitless Space, before your measureless 

Time 
Ere Life or Death began was this changeless essence 

sublime. 

9 



HARVEST-TIDE 

In the core of eternal calm He dwelletli unmoved and 

alone 
'Mid the Universe He has made^ as a monarch upon 

his throne. 

And the self-same inscrutable Power which fashioned 

the sun and the star 
Is Lord of the feeble strength of the humblest creatures 

that are. 

The weak things that float or creep for their little life 

of a day 
The weak souls that falter and faiut^ as feeble and 

futile as they ; 

The malefic invisible atoms unmarked by man's pur- 
blind eye 

That beleaguer our House of Life^ and compass us till 
we die ; 

All these are parts of Him^ the indivisible One, 
Who supports and illumines the many. Creation's Pil- 
lar and Sun ! 

Yea, and far in the depths of Being, too dark for a 

mortal brain. 
Lurk His secrets of Evil and Wrong, His creatures of 

Death and of Pain. 

10 



A NEW ORPHIC HYMN 

By a viewless Necessity chained, a determinate Impetus 

drives 
To a hidden invisible goal the freightage of numberless 

lives. 

The waste, and the pain, and the wrong, the abysmal 

mysteries dim, 
Come not of themselves alone, but are seed and issue 

of Him. 

And man's spirit that spends and is spent in mystical 

questionings. 
Oh, the depths of the fathomless deep, oh, the riddle 

and secret of things. 
And the voice through the darkness heard, and the 

onrush of winnowing wings ! 



11 



ON A FLOCK OF BIRDS FLYING SOUTH- 
WARD BY NIGHT 

Above the silent fields and slumbering town, 
Fly onward fearless wanderers^ swiftly fly ! 
Speed fast, speed far, nor ever settle down, 
Unmarked upon the starless midnight sky. 
Save where white breasts reflect the city's light. 
And from your rushing, pulsing squadrons high 
Comes a faint ghostly cry. 

Alas ! for the sweet summer past and done. 
Again the cruel frozen north-wind blows. 
Fly southward, southward still pursue the sun 
Where by warm waves the crowned palm-ti-ee grows. 
Leave care and toil and fret and murky air 
To us, who with the ever-darkening day. 
Chained fast must bear to stay. 

Fly on, fly fast, till with the tardy light 
A second Summer wakes the purple sea. 
And Winter flies, defeated with the night. 
Then gliding earthward, slowly, wearily. 
By some hushed Afric forest-depths profound, 
12 



ON A FLOCK OF BIRDS 

Or windless glare of some surf-beaten strand 
Greet the old Southern land. 

But oh ! forget not 'neath that fuller sun, 
Our Northern Summer's shy reluctant grace 
The white-robed Spring ere primrose-tide is done. 
Blithe June or ruddy Autumn's sunburnt face. 
The flowery depths, the golden waves of wheat. 
The symphonies of faithful wedded song 
Piped gladly all day long. 

Here is your home and ours, where the young brood 
Were born, and essayed first their callow wings. 
Here, where laborious summers gained their food. 
And homely love despised all outer things. 
Here is full life, not there, though flower and fruit 
Unfailing spring, and weal be yours and i-est. 
The North still holds the nest. 

Here will we stay content, whose lot is cast 
Far in the wintry North, for hearth and home. 
And ye, too, when the frozen blasts are past. 
Again to this our well-loved land shall come. 
April shall come again, and bring with her 
New wholesome toils, and ye with northward wing 
Shall speed to meet the Spring. 
13 



FOR A SCHOOL MAGAZINE 

Blithe boyhood ! shall a jaded Muse, 

A world-worn brain. 
The tribute of a song refuse 

Besought again ? 

Long since to my own school I gave 

A humble lay, 
Mixt memories now gay, now grave. 

Of work and play. 

The reverend courts, the Minster gray. 

The curfew bell. 
Still though dim years have passed away, 

Remembered well. 

The panting chase, the flying ball. 

The tented plain, 
Tlie plunge 'neath the warm wave recall 

Dead youth again. 

The happy task, that sweetened rest 

The soul afire. 
The thirst to know, the unsated zest. 

For something higher. 
14 



FOR A SCHOOL MAGAZINE 

The wonder of discovered lore 

And wisdom old. 
Poet and sage with new-found store. 

Words, thoughts of gold. 

Visions of far-off precious things 

Shy hopes of fame. 
Ambition, spreading soaring wings. 

Love's nascent flame. 

Ah me ! how far they seem, and yet 

So strangely nigh. 
Age might its slower limbs forget 

Its dimmer eye. 

Again the liopeful youthful heart 

Tlirobs high and fast. 
Again the joy, sometimes the smart 

Of the dead past. 

Not only in old fanes and hearts. 

But ever new. 
Young schools, young lives with varied arts 

The Muse pursue. 

Pass on, swift generations pass 
Undaunted on, 

15 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Each year spreads swifter wings, alas ! 
Till all are gone. 

Soon gay youth, lost in manhood's prime. 

Shall fleet away. 
Recruit, refresh the waste of Time 

By healthful play ! 

Bethink ye that the needed rest. 

The happier toil. 
To him alone are fully blest 

Who knows no soil. 

Nor let your faithful thought forget 

That work or rest. 
Him profit most whose soul is set 

To gain the best. 



16 



FAITH 

Oh Faith, that through our feeble youth, 
Our faltering footsteps didst sustain. 

With glimpses of receding Truth, 
Now seen and now withdrawn again ; 

But always faint and white and far 
As stars in summer midnights are. 

Not Faith thou wert, if throughly clear. 
Thou shon'st upon us, ever bright. 

If thou like knowledge, steadfast, near, 
Wert bathed in all-pei-vading Light, 

And with high noon of perfect Day, 
Illumin'dst our unerring way. 

Not Faith thou wert ! Ah, shine not bright. 
But as of old, o'erclouded still ; 

Let no broad noontides blind our sight ; 
With dawn, with eve, our spirits fill ; 

Not all thy hidden rays reveal — 
To know is lower than to feel. 



17 



BETWEEN THE MOUNTAINS AND THE SEA 

(November 9, 1897) 

In murky gloom, in petulant rain. 
Thick-swathed our sordid London lay, 
White mists obscured the midland plain 
Thro' all the drear November day. 

But with swift eve, the sinking sun 
Smote the Welsh hills, and suddenly 
Behold the reign of winter done, 
Once more the blue, unclouded sky. 

And with the dawn the impatient light 
Streams through the darkened cells of sleep, 
Till lo ! full noontide broadening bright. 
Brings azure sky and sapphire deep. 

Oh joy, how beautiful a way. 
My happy fate prepares for me. 
Who journey on this perfect day. 
Between the mountains and the sea. 
* * * * 

We leave behind the grey old town. 
The castle's flawless circuit tall, 
18 



BETWEEN THE MOITNTAINS AND THE SEA 

Thin turrets like a mural crown, 
Decking broad tower and frowning wall. 

The faint pyramidal peaks of Lleyn 
Rise sheer from out the encircling sea. 
The palaced groves of Anglesey 
Light the salt stream which flows between. 

Moel and the great twin brethren high, 

Eryri, king of upper air. 

Soar on the clear autumnal sky, 

' Mid thronging Titans everywhere. 

Unveiled from base to summit all 
Show russet fern and golden wood ; 
Bare steep, and slvyward-climbiug wall ; 
The fall that lights the solitude ; 

The rock-fenced fields, the wandering sheep 
Climbing the mountain's perilous brow. 
And sheltered by the quarried steep. 
Village and chapel far below. 

And see ! a dark procession come. 
Slow on the sunlit highway sped. 
Which bears to his eternal home, 
With hymns, some village worthy dead. 
19 



HARVEST-TIDE 

And every word that you shall hear. 
And all the sorrowful measures sung. 
Breathe the old Cymric spirit dear. 
Clothed in the old undying tongue. 



Turn from the mountains to the sea. 
The dark blue sea, where on the skies. 
Faint as a phantom isle might be. 
The hallowed heights of Bardsey rise. 

The calm sea ripples on the sand, 
The oft-vext deeps are lulled to rest, 
A soft breeze breathing from the land 
Dispels in mist each fairy crest. 

Long miles upon the giddy verge 

The swift train labours on its way. 

The white gulls swoop ; from surge to surge 

Tlie dusky cormorants dive and play. 

Tlie stone-roofed, massive homesteads grey, 
The stacks by close-bound ropes confined. 
Tell of the coming wintry day 
Which wings with snow the whirling wind. 

* * -x- * 

20 



BETWEEN THE MOUNTAINS AND THE SEA 

The hills recede, till, lo ! again. 
Perched high in air a tiny town. 
And stern above the lonely plain 
Harlech's unshattered ramparts frown. 

And then, once more, a rival band 
Of giant mountains close the view, 
Cader, Arrenig, Aran stand 
Serrated, huge, against the blue. 

Last, thy sweet vale, Dolgelly ! Where 
Is any fairer.^ Oak-crowned isle. 
Blue river, mounting woodsides fair. 
The golden haze, the unchanging smile. 

Not Como, nor Lugano hold 

Sei'ener azure depths diyine. 

Nor treasure of autumnal gold. 

Nor guardian summits great as thine. 

* * * * 

Again a widespread estuary, 

And on the lone bird-haunted strand. 

The white-winged squadrons circling free, 

Tlie land-locked pools, the ribbed sea-sand. 

Fair Mawddach's charm returns again. 
Sweet wandering Dovey dost thou pour 
21 



HARVEST-TIDE 

A lovelier tribute to tlie main, 

Than glides by Barmouth's sandy shore? 

Nay, nay ! I fear to award the crown 
Of natural beauty ; both are fair. 
Here the tall hills seem gentler grown. 
Here, richer meads, and softer air. 

Then comes once more the level plain. 
The sandy dunes, the half-hid blue. 
The sea-beat towns which woo the main. 
The academic towers which grew 

Swift as the Caliph's palace fair. 
On the loud verge ; the chosen home 
Of those wlio hold the things that were, 
Less than the glory that shall come 

And then by labouring gradients slow. 
Past park and hall, till ere the night 
Obscures the hills, and settles low 
On the loved vale ; my straining siglit 

Welcomes the homely scene ; thy steep 
Grongar, long sacred to the Muse ; 
Broad Towy winding to the deep ; 
Langunnor, with thy reverend yews. 



BETWEEN THE MOUNTAINS AND THE SEA 

Here, though 't is Life's November, still 
Are homely joys, and sunlit days, 
Blest memories haunt each modest hill. 
And « ake the yearning soul to praise. 



23 



AH! WAS IT I? 

Ah ! was it I, who loved to spend, 
The long laborious Autumn day, 
Till the slow twilight neai-ed its end. 
Content to chase, to wound, to slay ; 
Who watched unmoved the victims die? 
Ah ! was it I ? 

And was it I, who flushed with pride. 
And insolence of swelling years, 
Faith's simple teachings would deride, 
Taking no heed for saintly tears. 
Who scorned the upward path to try? 
Ah! was it I? 

And was it I who saw the Light 
Fade at high noon and leave behind 
Dark spectres of a haunted night. 
Sick fancies of a clouded mind. 
Deep sloughs of sense, lusts of the eye? 
Ah ! was it I ? 

Yet was it I whom from life's dawn. 
Some ray of a diviner Sun, 
2i 



AH! WAS IT I? 

Some heavenly music far withdrawn. 
Compassed till perilous youth was done, 
Some soaring angel-fancies high? 
Ah ! was it I ? 

And was it I whose riper age 
Knew all the earlier visions fade. 
Dull silence quench youth's nobler rage, 
Blank solitudes myself had made, 
Hope, laughter, sinking to a sigh? 
Ah! was it I? 

Ay! it was I — the pitiless child, 

Tlie unfaithful youth, the man who saw 

W^ith brain mature, and heart grown mild. 

The silent, sad, unbending Law ! 

From change to change Life's seasons fly. 

Ay ! it was I ! 



25 



THE EARTH'S EASTER-TIDE 

Sing and rejoice Soul of the world sing on ! 

Sing and be glad to-day ! 

Thy Spring is come at length, thy winter gone, 

Vanished and chased away. 

Rise in white robes, leaving the tomb, the dead. 

Behold the living Sun calls to thee overhead. 

Let the glad Earth her bosom deck with flowers, 

A bride with pure, calm eyes, 

Let the still sea reflect the cloudless skies. 

To-day deep joy is ours. 

The Spring-tide of the Soul at last is born. 

Our Hope is risen, is risen, this is our Easter morn. 

Exult, oh heart. Rejoice, oh Soul, rejoice. 

Thy Hope is risen to-day. 

Let all things living lift a cheerful voice. 

Thy Hope is risen to-day. 

No more Death bounds our lives with hopeless pain, 

Our Sun is risen indeed ! He lives and reigns again ! 



26 



TEDIUM YITJE 

Weary of life ! Ah ! wherefore live 
If Age and Suffering rack the frame, 

If Pleasure holds no gain to give. 

If Honours pall and with them Fame ; 

If Riches fly and Love be gone. 

Nor ray of sunshine gild the gloom, 

AlTiy linger miserably on 
Why longer cheat the open tomb? 

But Pain may cease and Time bring Health, 
And rising Hope expel Despair, 

Again the golden glow of wealtli 

May rout the gathered clouds of care. 

Not these, the pains which breed disgust 

Of living, but the ingratitude. 
Of child or friend, the shattered trust. 

The links once broken ne'er renewed. 

'ITie Faith once living drowned and dead. 
Too long on life's dark waters tost, 

llie glory dimmed, the vision fled, 
llie inner voices mute and lost. 
27 



HARVEST-TIDE 

These leave us, lonely, desolate. 

Bankrupt of hope, and love, and friend. 

With nothing from the wreck of Fate 
But one dull longing- for tlie End. 



28 



THE MARCH OF MAN 

Man that is born of a Woman the pride and the shame 
of Creation ; 

Man that soars upward to Heaven^ and sinks to the 
nethermost Hell; 

Man that is lower than the brute and yet higher in 
rank than the Angels ; 

Man with vile lusts that dishonour, and yearnings that 
soar to the skies ; 

ITiat can die for tlie Truth— ^ ay, in torture; that wal- 
lows in sensual pleasures ; 

And is drowned in fathomless sloughs and abysses of 
shameful desire ; 

Tliat is full of compassion and pity and ruth for his 
suffering brethren ; 

That robs and tortures and slays, destroying the image 
of God. 

Dark riddle unsolved, dumb Sphinx, with a twofold 
nature eternal 

That speaks no word though the ages fleet by on in- 
visible wings 

Unaltered, though diverse in faith and in race, for 
good or for evil ; 

29 



HARVEST-TIDE 

High in knowledge, buried in ignorance, always un- 
changeably, Man. 

Thee I sing and thine is the Hymn that I essay with 
accents unworthy 

Thy high glory, thy deep disgrace, the crown of the 
world and its shame ! 

Ah ! God, through what aeons unnumbered Man was, 
while the fires of Creation 

Burned fierce, and the earth and the sea still seethed 
in a tropical haze. 

Monstrous growths in the ooze or the jungle, or cleav- 
ing the ill-defined aether 

Mailed dreadfully, rending talons, fangs horrible, cav- 
ernous jaws ! 

What power was it strengthened his arm in a world 
of rapine and slaughter.'' 

What steeled his spirit undaunted midst terrors by 
night and by day.^ 

Wliat else than the force which compelled those isolate 
units together 

As never the brute was drawn, for mutual solace and aid. 

Long ages of suffering were thine, unarmed 'mid a 
monstrous creation, 

80 



THE MARCH OF MAN 

Hidden deep in the caves of tlie rocks^ by the fear of 
thy ravening foes, 

Till the sure blight came with the years on that primal 
order gigantic. 

And the mailed monsters dwindled and failed from the 
temperate ocean and earth. 

Then fighting for food, men with men, while the sIovf- 
fashioned flint-heads prima?val 

That had pierced thro' the mastodon's mail, were red- 
dened with fratricide blood. 

Till at last the faint language of signs, in a dumb 
world vacant of reason 

Grew slowly through age-long degrees, to the ulti- 
mate wonder of speech. 

Yet amid all the bloodshed and terror, the famine and 
nakedness always 

Were the Father's and Mother's love, and the innocent 
smile of the child. 

Oh ages, known only to God ! Oh dim generations for- 
gotten ! 

Of like nature were ye with our own, of like passions, 
glory and shame. 

Thus through ages and ages of Time marched the long 
successions unending, 

The hunter, the fisher waxed skilful through sad genera- 
tions of men, 

' 81 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Step by step came new powers and new arts, and o'er 
all the Creation dominion, 

And man graved on tlie mastodon's tusk the first faint 
beginnings of Art. 

Fire came from the Sun, or the storm-cloud, and with 
it the forging of metals ; 

No more the savage tears raw, the blood-stained flesh 
of his prey. 

But with hatchet of bronze levels slowly the broad- 
leaved trees of the forest, 

And builds liim a hut to escape from the sun, and the 
snow and tlie rain. 

ITien sews him a garment of skins to ward off the 
rigour of winter. 

And the hearth gives comfort and liglit through the 
dark and desolate hours ; 

The husbandman tills the eartli with rude shares of 
newly forged iron. 

And sows with each coming of Spring hoarded trea- 
sures of life-bearing grain ; 

Silent ages ! but always the gains of the long Past har- 
vested safely, 

Gathered little by little, at length, brought the triumpli 
of conquering Man ! 



32 



THE MARCH OF MAN 

And last^ through a rift in the clouds, like the blessed 
Sun seen and then hidden. 

There dawns on Man's upturned vision some broken 
image of God ; 

Obscured by vague terrors as yet, bloody rites and foul 
superstitions. 

Yet holding within it the power to raise up the man 
from the brute. 

Then after long seons of pain, step by step, the savage 
ascending, 

Tlie scattered huts, grew to the village, and then to the 
wall-circled town, 

Strong towers with rampart and moat, the hut giving 
place to the palace. 

Halls of marble, long colonnades, and ceilings fretted 
with gold, 

The pride of the races that lived, their forgotten his- 
tories vanished. 

The gains of the Empires unsung, whose speech and 
whose records are dead. 

Ere the black-bearded kings from their chariots pur- 
sued the pitiful thousands, 

Or transfixed the lion or pard with shafts from the 
merciless bow ; 

Or who by the mystical Nile, grave, priest-like. Lords of 

the Bondsmen, 

33 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Swayed through long-drawn dynasties dim the voice- 
less bewildering years ; 

Those whose name and whose fame together have per- 
ished, older than legend, 

Whose ruins, the sand or the forest conceals in its 
silence profound. 

Perished ! gone, clean forgotten of men but surely re- 
peating for ever 

Man's story of life and endeavour, and conquest, and 
failure, and death. 



Age upon age passed away, and the graven records 

unfading 
Were carved no more on the rocks, but writ on the 

tablets of mind ; 
Tlie glory of Greece shone forth, the sage, tlie hero, 

the poet. 
The lips of Wisdom were touched with a new-born 

sweetness and fire, 
Tlie painter, the sculptor revered the perfect half- 
divine body, 
And saw through the veil of the flesh, the immanent 

Godhead displayed. 
The Godlike was clothed with life by the voice of the 

sage, of the minstrel, 

34 



THE MARCH OF MAN 

Half-divine show the heroes immortal who fought in 
the fabulous Troy. 

Ohj fair blossom of Man's young summer, oh, glory 
and radiance departed, 

Oh white lily springing from mire, too foul for the sav- 
age to-day ! 

Then, the blossom of Beauty past, from strong roots 

far reaching ascended 
A gnarled tree of secular strength, the o'ershadowing 

greatness of Rome ; 
Not Beauty, but Law with Might, Titanic, disciplined, 

fearless, 
Wearing down the pride of the Strong, but sparing the 

cast-down and weak. 
Beneath that strong Law universal, man faded, and 

manacled Freedom, 
Grew faint, and withered and sank 'neath the blight of 

a cankering peace. 
Till law fell, trampled down in the dust by the feet 

of the tyrannous Cspsars, 
And only a phantom remained of the power, and the 

glory of old, 
And in deep sloughs of sense and of blood, unredeemed 

by the Beauty of Hellas, 
J35 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Sank the nig'ged manhood and stern of the legions that 
conquered the world. 

And not even the new-born Dawn, proclaiming its heav- 
enly message 

Which shone forth from dying Judaea could pierce 
through the gathering gloom. 

The West paused long on its march, the weary Orient 
slumbered, 

No ears had Mankind to hear the Word that was sent 
for their Peace. 

Then there rushed from the ends of the Earth, liorde 
on horde, invincible, awful, 

On the shame of a moribund world, the unnumbered 
avengers of blood. 

And the heart of the giant was pierced and the shat- 
tered idol fell earthward. 

And the prisoners of Time were set free, and Mankind 
delivered from Rome. 

Then ages on ages of blood that cleansed the dark stains 
of Man's story. 

And again the weary world woke in the light of a long- 
deferred day. 

And the hope of the Race sheltered safe, in the sacred 
hush of the Cloister, 

36 



THE MARCH OF MAN 

Keeping some faint glimmer alight in a world whereof 
Darkness was King. 

And each century added its rays, till at length from 
slumber awaking. 

The mighty West leapt to its feet, and again was Hu- 
manity free ; 

A new breath breathed on the Race and the swift gen- 
erations sped onward. 

Adding each some laborious gift to the sum of the gains 
of the whole. 

Still the long processions speed onward, and still each 

man in his station. 
Brings his loyal oblation of work to lay on the altar of 

Good, 
Busy toilers of wider view, a great army of seekers de- 
voted. 
O'er all the wide kingdom of knowledge spread tireless 

and thirsting to know ; 
Weigh the Sun and the Stars in the scales, scan the 

uttermost heaven and discover 
The long-locked wandering star whose vast orbit brings 

it again ; 
Can predict its return ages hence though no eye now 

living shall see it, 

37 



HARVEST-TIDE 

And conjecture on faint far j^lauets the work of intelli- 
gent hands ; 
Who with re-inforced vision explore the iu\'isihle hid- 
den Creation, 
The death-dealing germs of Disease, the secrets of Life 

and of Death ; 
^V'ho imprison and guide at their pleasure the nameless 

force of the lightning, 
Till it conquers the darkness of Nighty or whirls them 

o'er sea and o'er laud, 
^^'ho shall make them a way through the air leaving 

cloud and tempest beneath them. 
Till the ends of the earth are linked fast in a holy 

communion of Peace ; 
Who shall learn by the power of just laws to raise up 

the down-trodden thousands. 
Till Nature's unequal gifts are redressed by the wisdom 

of men. 
Bring new fire, oh Promethean Science ! rise higher, 

oh glorified Manhood ! 
Till thou gain to full knowledge at last of the infinite 

purpose of God . 
But can this be the cave-man of old, the naked savage 

primaeval. 
Hiding deep in the depths of the rocks from the winged 

Lizard's pitiless jaw? 



THE MARCH OF i\L\N 

"Wondrous gain ! but broken too oft by reversals and 
degenerations. 

Not always the secular inarch lay onward and upward 
to Light, 

ITie old Empires faded and sank leaving naught but 
some ruins Cyclopic 

Buried deep in the sands, or o'ergrovvn in the twilight 
of tropical woods. 

The Temples, the altars are gone, the tall carven col- 
umns lie prostrate, 

Gods and men lie buried together; dumb histories, 
glory, and shame, 

All are gone, and the peasant who delves 'mid tlie 
shapeless mounds starts to discover 

Deep hidden, the gold and the gems of the ghosts of a 
sepulchred Past. 

Still over the populous East, crude beliefs, thin phi- 
losophies, changeless 

From the first beginnings of Time, clog millions of 
wandering feet. 

And the naked savage obscene, fetish-ridden, unrea- 
soning, brute-like 

Gibbers still with faint jargons of speech through the 
limitless wastes of the South. 

Shall we hold with more credulous souls the faith in a 
purpose Eternal, 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Marching on without haste or delay to the final tri- 
umph of Good ? 



Yea^ the great Scheme fulfils itself always, though 
slowly with long intermissions, 

A\ ave on wave of the inflowing tide seems at times to 
ebb back to the sea ; 

Where to-day are the wonders of Painting, the breath- 
ing Marbles immortal. 

The floreate capitals carven, the vaulted, vaporous 
aisles? 

The skill of the craftsmen \\ho reared the huge bulk 
of structures colossal, 

The lost Arts, and triumphs of Knowledge, the hidden 
Arcana of Faith ? 

A great silence swallows them all, they have perished, 
and no man remembers. 

And the gains of the Past are re-won after ages of tra- 
vail and tears. 

Man that cowered long time in the caves, scant in 
numbers, feeble, forgotten. 

Is the crown and summit ot things, and has filled and 
governs the world. 

But not yet can he govern his soul ; gross desires, mean 
ideals, enslave him ; 

40 



THE MARCH OF iMAN 

Not wherefore he came nor whence, not whither he 

goeth he knows. 
Life's swift fleeting seasons perplex him, youth passes, 

dull age creeps upon him. 
Few are blest, while the multitudes labour through 

brief lives and fortunes forlorn. 
To the grave from the cradle they bear, the unsatisfied 

dim generations. 
Toil and suffering, hunger and cold, scant pleasure 

and undeserved pain. 
The shadow of fratricide war, broods deep o'er the 

shuddering peoples, 
And the round world rolls on through cycles of sorrow, 

and bloodshed, and pain. 

Nay oh man, though vainly it seem, still aspire, 

struggle onward and upward ! 
In the Future live, not the Past, trample down the 

inherited brute! 
Rise from sensual deeps, rise upward. He who made 

thee knows to what purpose, 
Spurn aside, one by one, with the years, the sordid 

rags of the Past. 
Give ear to the clear voice calling with mystical accents 

unceasing, 

41 



HARVEST-TIDE 

That bids tliee aspire and ascend in the faith of an ul- 
timate Good. 

Not for thee are the problems perplext of the methods 
and ends of the Maker, 

Turn with steadfast unwavering gaze to the Light of 
the half-discerned Sun ; 

Tread down in the mire of dead years the reproach of 
the travailing ages, 

Raise the wandering savage alike, and the waifs of the 
sin-laden streets ; 

The ruffian, the wanton, the thief, the bondsmen of 
Pleasure or Mammon, 

Wasting weariful lives in the chase of ignoble profit- 
less ends. 

Last of all make the Demon of War put oif his false 
halo of Glory, 

And a league of Bretliren conspire for the final triumph 
of Peace, 

Till the calm voice of Justice shall droAvn the cries of 
tumultuous Passion, 

And the criminal shrink from himself at the clear call 
of Godhead within ; 

Then, O Man that art born of a Woman, the crown, 
not the shame of Creation, 

Be thou filled with the glory of God, as the waters cover 

the Deep ! 

^ 42 



THE FREEING OF CRETE 

At length, at last, at last, 

'Ilie weary suffering years are past 

Baffled the tigerish Turk slinks from his bleeding prey. 

At last, O hapless Isle at last. 

Thy mother draws thee closer to her breast, 

Thee, who long ages this auspicious day 

Awaitedst, but in vain. 

Done is at length, thy age-long pain. 

And thou at last at rest. 

Strange are the ironies of Time and Fate, 
And dark the pathway of the Eternal feet. 
For lo, it was but yesterday that we, 
We whose hearts yearned to set the captive free. 
Knowing the story of thy misery 
AV^aited the Hellenic victories in vain. 
Ah me ! it was a time of pain 
For us, who from our earliest boyish years, 
With thee were nourished at one mother's breast! — 
Her brave sons, fearless dashed their lives in vain. 
Against the foemen's strong o'ermastering line. 
By alien hirelings drilled for victory. 
Oh wasted harvest fields of Thessaly, 
43 



HARVEST-TIDE 

On which divine Olympus looking, saw 

The brute invader trampling Right and Law, 

And weak defenders dying but in vain ! 

Ah me ! it was a time of tears. 

Blank disappointment sinking to despair. 

Almost our sad eyes seemed to see 

The loathly Ottoman once more again 

Befoul the city of the violet-crown ; 

Loud shrieks of outrage on the affrighted air. 

Column again and temple crashing down. 

Barbarian vengeance wreaked on all things fair. 

Ah me ! it was a time of pain and tears. 

But now, but now, though scarce a year has gone, 
To her high goal our Hellas marches on. 
The jealous Powers their mutual hates forget. 
And suddenly from failure, from defeat. 
She springs unconquered yet. 
From clouds and darkness beams her rising sun, 
A miracle, a miracle is done ! 
In full accord the o'ermastering navies ride, 
To work the will of Europe side by side, 
And Peace accomplishes what War denied — 
The net is broken and the captive free ! 
The sufferings of the dead unhappy Past, 
The wrongs, the tyrannies are fled at last. 
44 



THE FREEING OF CRETE 

"Begone!" the banded Admirals cried, "Begone!' 
And without stroke of sword or flash of gun 
The Oppressor slunk away, his rule of Evil done. 

Therefore we sing to-day 
"Te Deum" for the victory of Peace; 
O Power of Good at last make Wrong to cease ! 
We, whose brave sons have died, and not in vain. 
In treacherous massacre, with torture slain, 
To free our Hellas ; we, 

Wliose England is the mother of all the Free, 
We praise thee, and we pray. 
Deliver soon the shining Company 
That stud the purple of the iEgean sea; 
The land of Philip's conquering son; 
The rock-built islet of the blind old man 
King of all Singers still ; fair regions long. 
Shrined in our English Poet's generous song, 
Where long unchecked the spoiler loved to slay. 
And rob and ravish, as he would to-day. 
Bind in close union all who love to speak 
The sacred accents of the Greek, 
Till at the last the victory won, 
Hellas regains her children one by one ! 
Deliver all, dread Power, and set them free 
From the foul Turk's decrepit tyranny. 
45 



HARVEST-TIDE 

And ye^ O new-born freemen brave. 

Put off the ignoble vices of the slave. 

Forget the faults which long oppression breeds, 

The feuds, the jealousies of warring creeds. 

Be love your guide, not hate, 

Not for yourselves take heed but for the State, 

Forget the Past, till a pervading Peace 

Shall bind you fast to Greece. 

Then ye, oh, triple peaks of virgin snow, 

Which on the Marring strifes and woes below, 

Looked down unmoved through the sad centuries 

Ere Homer sang, no more again shall see 

The secular misery ; 

The hamlet flaring from the smoke's black shroud. 

The huddled flocks, and herds, the afi'righted crowd; 

But smile upon the untroubled, peaceful plain. 

Where labour reaps its due; the untrampled grain. 

The unrifled olive, and the laden vine; 

On corn and oil and wine. 

And on the rippling breadths of purple sea. 

Lit by white wings of many an argosy. 

In the great Peace and Concord that shall be. 



46 



CHRISTMAS, 1898 

Another Century dies, 
In war and blood and pain. 
Our longing streaming eyes 
Look forth for Peace in vain. 
For Christ the myriads fall 
Butchered by Turk or Kurd 
Comes there no end? Is all 
The hope of men in vain ? 
Comes not the Lord again 
O'er all the Earth to reign, 
As spake the Word ? 

Slow are God's judgments, slow. 
To Man's impatient thought. 
Slow-paced the Ages grow. 
In vain the goal is sought 
Armed to the teeth to-day 
The jealous peoples stand. 
Worse blight than of decay, 
Worse burden than of war 
The fleets and legions are ; 
Dumb terror spreading far 
O'er sea and land ! 
47 



HARVEST-TIDE 

'T is nigh two thousand years. 
Since came the Prince of Peace, 
Return Tliou, calm our fears. 
Make strife and war to cease ; 
Thick clouds to-day of doubt. 
Obscure our faithful sight. 
Shine, Blessed Sun, shine out. 
The stoi'ms of Passion still. 
Again, oh hidden will. 
The wintry Earth fulfil 
With Peace and Light ! 



48 



CHRISTMAS, 1899 
"Morituri te salutant!" 

The din of the battlefield dies. 
The shouts of the foemen are still. 
No more from the deep-trenched hill 
The murderous battle-bolt flies. 
Here, alone 'mid the silent slain. 
Alone with no comforter nigh. 
Too feeble for fear or for pain, 
'Neath strange stars in the pitiless sky, 
I make ready to die. 

Here soon with the dawn's dim light. 

Or maybe in the lantern-lit dark. 

They will find me stretched cold and stark, 

A soldier who died in the night. 

Is it I who lie helpless here, I, 

Who this morning went pulsing with life 

To drink the delight of the strife.^ 

I, whose life ebbs away as I lie. 

Making ready to die.'' 

'T is Christmas-tide over the Earth, 
And thro' all our dear England to-night, 
49 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Hearths glow ruddy and hearts young and old are light 

For joy of that marvellous birth. 

Ah ! if only some vision might come 

Of the dear ones my eyes caiuiot see ! 

If some token of love might be wafted to me 

From the silent lips in the well-loved home. 

Ere my time comes to die ! 

Heaven ! What is this comforting hand 

\\^lich touches my fast-closing eyes. 

This Presence which opens a door in the skies. 

Where all my beloved stand? 

See, see 't is my mother's kind face ! 

Smiling grave 'neath her silvery hair. 

And my dearest love bending beside her chair ! 

And my children's careless innocent grace, 

AU are here, as I lie. 

They are joyous, dear children, at play, 
With the spoils of the old Christmas tree. 
Heaven keep them from hurt and calamity free, 
Till their sunny locks are grey. 
My brave boy has his sword and his gun. 
Like the soldier he wearies to be. 
Can I wish for him more when his life is done 
50 



CHRISTMAS, 1899 

Than to fall for our Eiiglaud, if ueed shall be. 
And die happy like me? 

Thank Heaven for the vision ! My heart 

Beats high for a moment still, 

As when we charged swift up this death-dealing hill, 

Each man striving to do his part. 

I am troubled no longer, but lie 

Happy, thinking of hearth and of home, 

I rejoice that my dear ones were given to come, 

I grow faint, 'tis the end, I am ready to die, 

O beloved, O England, good-bye! 



51 



ON AN EMPTY HOUSE 

A STATELY house I passed to-day, 
Familiar when the world was gay. 
How the years fleeting take our lives ! 
Nought of that joyous Past survives. 
Blind casements, railings red with rust, 
Dumb doorways choked with leaves and dust, 
And see the staring placard cold — ■ 
"Tliis noble mansion to be sold." 

Nigh thirty years have passed away 
Since each year passing bloomed in May ; 
Nigh thirty years, since side by side. 
The youthful bridegroom and his bride 
Passed careless through that lofty door, 
Wliere now their feet shall come no more. 

All splendours that to wealth belong 
Were theirs of feast and dance and song. 
The gliding lamps that choked the street, 
The thunder of high-stepping feet ; 
The lights, the liveried crowd without, 
Tlie wafted strains, the linkmen's shout; 
52 



ON AN EMPTY HOUSE 

The jewelled throng that scaled the stair; 
The star-decked Great, the white-robed Fair; 

And when the whirling town grew still, 
Grey on the sunny oak-crowned hill. 
The gabled grange, amid the fern ; 
Last, ere the sere leaves ceased to burn 
The swallow-flights to chase the sun ; 
Spring blossoms, bright ere Yule was done, 
And by the purple waters calm. 
The palace gleaming thro' the palm. 

Nigh thirty happy tranquil years, 
Child-voices, homely hopes and fears ; 
Young girls, springing sweet and good 
From infancy to maidenhood. 
Soon joyous bridals, year by year 
Unbroken welfare, scarce a tear, 
Only the bright home stiller grown 
When half the nestling brood had flown. 

Last, ere chill age o'ertook them, then. 
Such is the lot of mortal men. 
The pitiless call too early come. 
To break the tranquil hush of home, 
The fair wife summoned first, then he, 
53 



HARVEST-TIDE 

The sad sire fading gradually. 
And so the end ; the nest grown cold , 
The orphaned lives I know not where ; 
Blind casements^ dust^, and everywlicre. 
Dim on the dense autumnal air. 
Time's epitaph on Rank and Gold — 
''This noble mansion to be sold." 



54 



LIFE-MUSIC 

Sound, jocund strains ; on pipe and viol sound. 

Young voices sing ; 
Wreathe every door with snow-white garlands round. 

For lo ! 't is Spring ! 
Winter has passed with its sad funeral train, 
And hope revives again. 

Blow high, blow loud upon the wreathed horn, 

Sound joy-bells deep ! 
Greeu-kirtled summer walks through vines and corn, 

The fenced fields sleep ; 
The first flowers fade, the green fruits swell, and yet 
Fruition brings regret. 

Lift joyous harvest-music mellow notes 

With merry tunes ! 
Raise thankful paeans loud from manly throats. 

Trumpets, bassoons! 
Autumn has left red fruits and garnered gold. 
With dawns and twilights cold. 

Yet cease not from the use of solemn song. 
When the streams freeze ; 
55 



HARVEST-TIDE 

For dark brief days and rayless nights and long^ 

For leafless trees ! 
Each season should its proper music bring, 
Sweet as the songs of Spring. 



56 



IN MEMORY OF TWO FRIENDS 
I 

GWALCHMAI 

Again the oft-renewed request, 
With time more frequent, to rehearse 
In some brief page of halting verse 
The praise of Cymry gone to rest. 

Thou good grey head, wliose long life spread 
O'er all this fateful century, 
Now thou hast joined the faithful dead, 
I bring a wreath of praise for thee. 

In many a thronged pavilion fair 
Thy thin bent form, these eyes have seen, 
Tliy medalled breast, thy silvery hair. 
Thy clear, calm gaze, thy brow serene. 

Oft have I marked thy accents weak 
Amid the hushed, attentive throng. 
In volleying swift EiTglynion speak 
What time they chaired the Bard of Song. 

Thyself an oft-crowned Bard, whose Muse 
To th' old alliterate measures sweet 

57 



HARVf:ST-TIDE 

Her voice inspired^ did ne'er refuse. 
But lightlier tripped for fettered feet. 

Nor thus alone, but long time stirred 
The passionate, yearning Cymric heart 
To choose the higher, better part 
By preaching of the Eternal W^ord. 

So may it be till time is done ! 
Two Powers for Good of differing name; 
There are, in noble aim the same — 
God's Preacher and His Bard are one. 

Dear silent Bard, of kindred blood, 
AVith mine, from Mona's wind-swept shore, 
I praise thy song, thy work for good, 
'T is only here thou sing'st no more. 

II 
T. Ll. T. 

Good Friend, whose heart, whose Muse refined, 
Were to our Isis faithful yet, 
I praise thee with a willing mind 
Ere the world hastens to forget. 

Thou as befits our tuneful race 
Wert touched in youth with Bardic fire, 
58 



IN MEMORY OF TWO FRIENDS 

The Cymric melody and grace 
Thy young ambition did inspire. 

Long since in thy successful song 
The Toiler's praise thou didst rehearse. 
Winning by sympathetic vei'se 
The plaudits of the lettered throng. 

Fair gift by work's unchanging round 
Thro' all thy later years represt ; 
Thou hidd'st, by lifelong fetters bound, 
The fire scarce kindled in thy breast. 

And better thus maybe to bear 
Duty's dull burden to the end, 
The Teacher's crown of work to wear 
That in each Learner gains a friend. 

Beside life's duteous liturgies 
What profits rank or wealth or name .'' 
A brighter lustre shines on these 
Than on the pinnacles of Fame. 

Far better to have won the love 
By faithful work, of old and young. 
Than the admiring throng to move 
By song as sweet as Bard has sung. 
59 



HARVEST-TIDE 

So I who knew thee well and long, 
I whose sole gift it is to sing, 
To these memorial pages bring 
This votive wreath of musing song. 



60 



ON A SCULPTOR WHO DIED YOUNG 

J. MILO GRIFFITH 

( Obiit. September 1897 ) 

Art smiled on him, but one unchanging frown 
For all his days would churlish Fortune keep ; 
Too soon we deemed he laid life's burden down. 
Nay ! for He giveth His beloved sleep ! 



61 



VER NON SEMPER VI RET 

Oh the blithe spring weaves a maze of flowers till come 
the glad Midsummer hours 

When the sun is shining, shining, Dawn and Sunset in 
the skies ; 

Yet tho' song and youth are everywhere, upon the joy- 
ous lightsome air, 

A cold voice sighs. 

''There shall come a fated end of all, ere Autumn's 

leaves have ceased to fall. 
And thro' all the sleeping woods there sounds no trill 

of waking bird. 
And a great hush steals away the joys of youth and all 

its merry noise. 
And song-tide dies." 

Silent yet tolling, tolling deep, like wizard voices heard 

in sleep. 
The strange sound eddies ceaseless, like a whirlpool 

round the soul. 
There is silence all-pervading ; voiceless echoes sinking, 

fading 
While the still deeps roll. 

62 



VER NON SEMPER VIRET 

And anon a ghostly pealing, on the poppied senses 

stealing, 
Life's high, soaring accents hushing, to an undertone 

of pain ; 
Soar, oh Love-strains high and higher, like a fountain, 

like a fire, 
Youth is not in vain. 

Drown the dismal, deathlike measure, in loud canticles 

of pleasure, 
Joy of youth, and joy of living, let your blithest songs 

be sung. 
For though Age with Death conspire, to-day the sun 

mounts high and higher. 
And the world is young. 



63 



ON A MEMORIAL ORGAN 

His life made music sweeter far than sound, 
Here would we keep some echoes that were his. 
Who, with the choir invisible around. 
Now hearkens to the Eternal Harmonies. 



64 



THE DIAMOND JUBILEE 

AN ODE 
( June 20, 1897 ) 

Rejoice, give thanks for all the centuries. 

Since first our little island's crescent story, 

A feeble radiance woke the waning skies. 

To shine in full-orbed glory. 

Twelve centuries ago our Britain rose. 

Girt round by watchful foes. 

And did prevail at last — such power in valour lies, 

Such force the brain, the arm of Freedom fires. 

Such lofty thought her soul inspires. 

Hers were the faults the virtues of the strong. 

The passionate love of Right, tlie burning liate of Wrong, 

Warped sometimes by her too imperious will. 

To thoughts, to deeds of ill. 

But hearing still through all the voice of Fate, 

Proclaim, "Thou shalt be great!" 

Mixed is the journey of a nation's life, 
Through frowning mountain-pass and flowery plain. 
Through peaceful halcyon days, rude storms of cruel 
strife, 

65 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Brief pleasure, longer pain. 

But not in vain has our dear Britain been. 

Oh gracious Island Queen, 

Mother of freemen ! over all the earth, 

Tliy Empire-children come to birth. 

Vast continents are thine or sprung from thee, 

Brave island-fortress of the storm-A'ext sea ! 

The giant commonwealths which sway the ^Vest, 

Were nourished at thy breast ; 

The fair-grown sisters of the Austral main 

That hold the South in fee. 

Are thine, and love thy laws and speak thy tongue ; 

The dusky millions of thy fabulous East, 

Dim Empires older than the dawn of Time — 

niy crescent realm on Afric's peopled shore, 

Tlie white man's grave no more ; 

Ruled by just laws, and learning to grow free, 

Rejoice by thy Britannic Peace increased. 

Thy praise is by a myriad voices sung ; 

Thou treadst alone thy onward path sublime : 

Thou hast not been in vain ! 

Great Empire, those who come to-day from far. 
Seeking some symbol of our common love. 
Know through their souls. Imperial pulses move. 
Following as did the Magi once, the Star 
66 



THE DIAMOND JUBILEE 

Of this new birth of Time^ this happy reign ! 
Ne'er in our Crowned Republic's story yet^ 
Of all that men remember or forget. 
This strange, this precious thing has been : 
No reign of threescore years of King or Queen. 
Our annals hold — till in this waning age. 
Time's finger writes it on the storied page. 
This is the golden link which binds in one 
All British hearts beneath the circling Sun, 
And this the Star which draws all, far and near, 
This aged life and dear ! 

iVli, honoured thin-drawn life ! wlio long hast borne, 
From that far June, when with the earliest morn 
The young maid woke with tears, 
And innocent childish fears. 
The heavy burden of the Imperial Crown, 
Thy young, thy aged temples pressing down ; 
Who threescore years throned in the nation's heart, 
Of all its joys and sorrows, barest part. 
Sharing thy people's humbler hopes and fears, 
And oft directing through a mist of tears 
Our difficult way, — so fragile yet so strong! 
Thou seemest to our eyes 
Our own embodied Britain, old yet young ; 
Not the rude Britain of her arrogant youth, 
07 



HARVEST-TIDE 

But loving peace_, and filled with gentle rutli^ 
The Britain, her undying bards have sung. 
Our lives are bound with thine, our hopes with thee. 
Thy subjects all, and loyal lovers, we 
Come from the North, the South, the East, the West ; 
From the acclaiming lands beyond the foam. 
Seeking their ancient unforgotten home. 
Differing in race and tongue, and creed and name — 
Senators, soldiers, rulers great in fame, 
Thy proud Proconsuls come ; 
Down lanes of life the slow processions stream, 
Barbaric gold and sunlit pennons gleam. 
While all the glittering palace-balconies. 
Are animate with bright patrician eyes — 
And from our mighty mother, and the hum 
Of labour-teeming towns, from mine and loom, 
And the blurred forge's mingled glow and gloom. 
Throngs the unnumbered league-long crowd. 
Waiting with yearning hearts and plaudits loud. 
To see along the fluttering flower-hung street. 
With trumpet-blare and measured martial feet, 
Down clear perspectives of the sunlit ways 
Tlie jewelled pageant pass to prayer and praise. 
For blessings that ha\'e been, and peace, and length of 
days. 

G8 



THE DIAMOND JUBILEE 

This pomp makes History. Long years to be, 

\\Tien all our brave Victorian company 

Beyond the circuits of the stars has gouBj 

The echoes of this memorable day. 

Not wholly dumb, nor fled away. 

Shall still go widening, widening on. 

Till Britain with new fires of Union glow. 

Not as the Roman, triumphing o^ yore — 

Tlie slave, the doomed, behind, the conqueror, before — 

Our peaceful pageants show ; 

W^Tiereto each daughter-state or subject-race. 

Brings its own native pride and grace. 

For Union 't is our severed people's cry. 

For Peace each neighbour-realm, each proud ally ! 

Princes and Peoples join alike to pay. 

Due reverence to a Woman's blameless sway, 

A.nd bless with heart and voice this fair auspicious day. 



69 



RENEWAL 

Draw near, draw near. 

Oil blithe and glad New Year, 

Haste, haste our weary souls to cheer. 

Draw swiftly near. 

Bidding farewell to pain and fear, 

And sullen Winter's frown, and ready tear, 

Briglit hopes and far horizons clear. 

Draw near, draw near. 

Let agewom Wisdom hide her wrinkled front severe. 

Wake wake again 
Beneath the genial rain. 
Pathetic vernal fancies vain^ 
Come Spring again. 
Weave the old flowery chain 
Round Youth's strong pulse and throbbing brain. 
While Love and Hope remain. 
And Life is mixt of Joy and pain. 
Blossom again ! 

Trip by swift, nimble Hours, with Summer in your 
train ! 



70 



TERRA DOMUS 

Above the deep-set valley 
The mountain-ranges rise ; 
Above the clouded summits. 
The boundless skies. 

Beyond the crested surges. 
Broad plains of ocean are. 
Beyond the dim horizons 
The evening star. 

Beyond, above the limits 
Of toil and pain and strife. 
Gleams like a fitful beacon, 
The blessed life. 

Beyond Earth's quick mutations. 
Bright hopes and glooms of fear — 
Ah ! but high heaven afi'rights us. 
Our home is here ! 



71 



A GEORGIAN ROMANCE 

(a.d. 1900) 

''Think you that after nineteen centuries 

Since shone our Hope on earthy there come to-day 

No tragedies;, no dread abysmal deeps 

Of sin, like those of old, the accursed house 

Of Atreus, or the fratricides of Thebes, 

Or those the shame of mediaeval Rome, 

The Borgias, or the Cenci, or the rest? 

Nay, nay, the same infernal forces still 

Assault men's shuddering souls; amid the glare 

Of all our vaunted gains dark growths obscene 

Tower high as then — hot passion quenclied in blood - 

Lust, incest, fratricide, — these vex us still. 

As erst in Thebes or Rome, no fabled tales 

Are ours, but, dreadful fact, murders as fierce 

And deadly as of old ; the Church may preach 

Her sacred message ; the philosopher. 

All brain, but little heart, may boast in vain 

Mind's victories ; for still Tartarean fires 

Rage close beneath the surface scarce concealed. 

And whoso stumbles, burns. Deliver us 

O Power of Good, for 'tis a hopeless world !" 

72 



A GEORGIAN ROMANCE 

These dark thoughts held me, as I mused perplext, 

This very spring, reading the dreadful tale. 

The morning's broadsheet* brought, and seemed to 

gaze. 
On the blue waters of the Euxine sea. 
By bright Odessa, while a fettered crew 
Of convicts whom the inexorable Law 
Banished to far Saghalien shambled by 
Dragging their chains ; vile faces, seared and marred. 
Doomed for long painful years to fruitless toil 
Deep in the sunless mine, till youth and hope 
Lay dead, and only some poor wreck remained 
Of what long since was man — all, young and old, 
Chained each to each, in convict garb, all sign 
Of rank and gentle breeding sunk and lost 
In fellowship of crime. Tlie wretches filed 
To where the black side of the impatient ship 
Swallowed them one by one. But as they passed 
In pitiful procession to their fate 
One my eye noted, tall, who walked alone 
In bloom of manhood, proud with steadfast eyes. 
Whom not the shameful garb, nor clanking chain, 
Nor manacled hands, nor vile companionship 
Could quite disguise or mar. Seeing him pass 

* See the Daily News, February 15, 1900. 
73 



HARVEST-TIDE 

I seemed to ask the wardei* of his name. 
But that he knew not, nor his rank, but only 
That he was called "Prince Ivan." Then I seemed 
To question the lost wretch, and hear him tell 
In gentle tones this dreadful tale of wrong. 

"WHiat, would you know what brings me here.'' Good 

friend. 
For in your eyes I see a pitying gleam, 
'T were better not to hear it, for, God wot. 
Sometimes I wonder if 't was I indeed 
Who sinned, or if some dread necessity 
Worked through me, as the sculptor's hand which 

moulds 
White marble, or the painter's who draws forth 
Dark fancies from the canvas, till behold ! 
A fiend, not man. I do not seek to hide 
My wickedness, but sometimes am perplexed 
To know by what gradations swift or slow 
What I was once was changed to what I am. 
I well remember how I read in youth 
The tales of ancient crime, nor ever dreamt 
That e'er they miglit be mine; but now I go 
To pay its penalty, a felon, lost. 
Degraded from my rank, doomed for long years 
To slave without reward or hope; to miss 
74 



A GEORGIAN ROMANCE 

All things that make life sweet — though nought indeed 
Could sweeten mine — yet to live hopeless on 
Without the power to end it. 

I was born 
Amid the Georgian snows^ of an old race, 
And puissant, ere the wily Russian stole 
Our land and freedom from us ; a chaste youth 
I spent among our mountains. My good sire 
Died first, and then my mother. My dear brother^ 
Filling my father's place and rank, remained 
Unwedded, keeping sole the ancestral state 
Of our old home ; but me a boy as yet 
He tended like a father, till the time 
When to our Northern City of the Snows 
I went to gain such knowledge as became 
My rank and birth. Dear brother, who didst lavish 
Thy love and care on me ; in that blest sphere 
WTiere now thou art, freed from this load of life, 
Forgive me if thou canst my dreadful wrong, 
Or if thou fail, forget it ! 

The swift years 
Fled by and left me man, and brought with them 
Such gains of knowledge as my studious youth 
Untouched, or but a little by grosser sense 
Or careless pleasures of the idle great. 

75 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Prized above all. 'Mid those gay crowds I kept 

Dear memories of the old ancestral halls, 

The high Caucasian peaks, the snow-fed streams. 

Long left but unforgotten, the brisk air 

Breathed 'mid the trackless pinewoods of my home. 

All these preserved my youth and kept it pure. 

Till last, treading the paths of sober love 

I wooed the daughter of a noble house 

And won her, and I thought I loved her well, — 

Ah me ! that I had known what 't was to love ! — 

Not with blind passion, but with tempered glow 

Of modei-ate fervour, such as lights and warms 

Thousands of happier souls who live calm lives 

In uneventful wedlock till the end. 

Nor dream that they are loveless. Ere we reached 

The goal of marriage, since the unfailing use 

Of noble houses when their scions wed 

Divides tlie ancestral lands, I, with what joy ! 

Forsook the noisy city for a while 

For my dear native hills. My brother wrote 

To bid me welcome. He, too, now was wed 

'To a wife the pearl of women, beautiful 

As Venus' self, as soon my eyes should see.' 

'Come,' he said, 'brother, all I wish for you 

Is that your wife be true and fair as mine.' 

76 



A GEORGIAN ROMANCE 

And then I left the murky city and sped 

Swiftly across the interminable plains 

To the dear hills. Ah me ! 't is three brief years. 

No more, but since that day what tilings have been — 

All dead ! and by whose fault? All dead ! but I, 

WTio come once more to meet the summer sun. 

Banished, degraded, chained, whom all men shun. 

Doomed to a death in life, far worse than death, 

A monster and accurst. 

But when I gained the well-remembered hills. 

No warning voice proclaimed what things should be. 

The weird old towers, the old familiar fields 

Showed nought of new, since I a budding youth 

Left, who returned a man. There seemed no change 

In any save in me, if there indeed. 

Seeing that the old loved scenes, the eager air. 

Stripped from me all the dusty past, and clothed 

My life with a new boyhood. At the gate 

My brother waited with a warm embrace 

Of welcome. Tlie brief winters which had passed 

Since last we met had left scant trace on him ; 

Only a broader brow, a form which showed 

More stalwart than before ; the past was dead. 

The past was gone, and I a boy again, 

O'erjoyed with all I saw. 

77 



HARVEST-TIDE 

And then I raised 
My eyes, and of a sudden knew my doom ! 

For there within the entrance stood revealed 

Tlie woman of my dreams. Of stately mien 

As 't were a Goddess ; the dark lustrous eyes 

Of Georgia, the divine Caucasian charm 

Which makes our women, fairer, comelier far 

Than all the world can match. On the sweet lips 

A smile of welcome for the stranger made 

My heart throb high ; something I seemed to gain, 

I never knew before, as if my life 

Had found its complement, the half the gods 

Of fable kept when half was given. Deep awe 

Chilled me as who at midnight calls his name 

And sees the answering spirit of himself; 

Or as the hapless hunter when he spied 

The Goddess disarrayed ; while from her eyes 

Shot a swift answering gleam, half joy, half pain, 

Proving a mutual wound. I found no word 

Of greeting, when my brother's kindly voice 

Made known to me my sister. — 'Sister,' said he.'' — 

Ah, nearer, dearer far tlian any tie 

Of common blood. Yet fenced by equal bars 

From honourable love. 

What need to tell 
78 



A GEORGIAN ROMANCE 

The dreadful tale? The hidden fatal fire 
Repressed in vain, tho' by no word declared. 
Nor guilty save in thought, grew every day 
Stronger and dreadfuller. 

Day after day 
I dallied with my fetters, knowing well 
That safety lay in flight ; until at last 
I lost the wish to fly. Tlien one sad night. 
Despite our wills, despite our shrinking hearts. 
The fire long smouldering leapt in sudden flame, 
Scorning restraint, and mounting terribly. 
Consumed the bars of honour, duty, faith. 
And left our lives in ashes. 

When 't was done 
And the long struggle ceased, we knew some ghost 
Of happiness, though haunted by the dread 
Of imminent ill. Ah me ! when I recall 
Those guilty days, compared with what should come, 
They show like heavenly glimpses ; yet were they 
The cause of all. 

Day after day the thought 
Of what discovery brought with it, mixed sweet 
With bitter, hardly as I think the sense 
Of wickedness oppressed us, we had found 
Some poisonous anodyne to blunt the qualm 

79 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Of conscience^ and despite our constant fear 

Not less 't was sweet to sin. This is the bribe 

Tlie Tempter offers, this the fatal net 

He spreads for souls, and damns them, and I durst not 

Break it, nor would, though now the fleeting weeks 

Flew onward to my marriage ; and my bride 

Who should be soon, wrote lovingly and fain 

Would hasten my return ; but still I found 

False pretexts. '^It was difficult to divide 

Our patrimony, though 1 longed to end it 

And call her mine,' but went not. At the last. 

My brother, too possest by noble trust 

For base suspicion, thinking I was loth 

To leave our ancient home, sent messengers 

Unknown to us, bidding them welcome her 

To her brothex''s home, and she, deluded soul, 

Came willingly. Love calling, to her doom. 

But when we knew that she would come, such dread 
Of what should be possessed us, that we knew. 
As by some sudden lightning flash revealed. 
The black abysses round. Bid her not come. 
We durst not, that were damning proof indeed 
Of guilt, yet if she came, she brought with her 
Discovery of our wrong ; the woman's wit 
Swifter than man's slow brain, reads at a glance 
80 



A GEORGIAN ROMANCE 

The secrets of the hearty and there remained 
Veiigeauce^ disgrace, the severance of the bonds 
WTiich now grew more than life — ay, ay, indeed. 
These things should be but dreadfuller by far 
Tlian any we had dreamt of. Yet some gleam 
Of hopeless hope sustained. As we deceived 
My brother, so perhaps should Fortune aid. 
We might deceive her too ; and so with dread 
Vexing us day and night, we did await 
Our doom and hers. 

Ah me ! the fatal day 
WTien at the last she came, I hurried forth 
To greet her, but the deep o'ermastering sense 
Of some calamity she could not name 
Oppressed her, and the lying welcome died 
Upon my lips as in my eyes she read 
A love estranged, and ghrank from my embrace. 
Shuddering she knew not why. We strove in vain, 
I and the partner of my sin, to feign 
The welcome which we felt not, and I saw. 
Half pitying, how pale she seemed, grown sick 
With hope deferred, and how the unbidden tears 
Sprang to her eyes, as to my noble brother 
She turned, while he with half-paternal words 
Would comfort her, thinking the deep fatigue 

81 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Of her long weary journey from the North 
Had sapped her strength. Poor souls, I pitied them 
Whose fate drew now so near, though scarce as yet 
I knew what must be. At the little feast 
Of welcome that we made, a little while 
She seemed to shake from her the load of care 
"^riiat first oppressed. We thought our secret yet 
Lay hidden, and grew hopeful to escape 
The eyes of jealous love, and so the days 
Slipped by, and we grew careless, and I feigned 
To love her still, as still I think she loved. 
Ah ! fools to hope to escape the searching gaze 
Of love's clear eyes. For tho' we strove to hide 
Our wrong, one hapless day a furtive glance 
Surprised, in one brief instant with a flash 
Discovered all. That night a letter came : 
'I know your secret, I will go. I pray you 
Ere 't is too late, repent you of your wrong. 
Make what excuse you will to your good brother 
To-morrow I will go, nor see you more.' 

Then in one moment the impassable net 
Our sin had spread around us stood revealed. 
And the deep pit of hell which yawned before us, 
Inevitable. When I strove to feign 
Excuses to my brother, his great wrath 
82 



A GEORGIAN ROMANCE 

Spurned them, and suddenly he seemed to know 
The dreadful truth, and love deceived, and faith 
Abused, worked such a tempest in his soul 
As broke in frenzy. His false wife he drove 
Instantly from his side, myself he stung 
With fierce reproach, but since I was his brother 
He spared my life. Our poor unhappy dupe. 
Who yet betrayed us not, with pitying words 
He comforted, but bade us from his sight. 
Till he should fix our sentence ; but his pride 
Of noble birth and blameless life unstained 
Constrained him to keep silence. 

Tliat same night 
I stole to where she was. Without a word 
We knew our doom, and the one only way 
Of safety, though it led through blood and death. 
And how the first transgression from the right 
Leads on by crooked paths, till when the day 
Is fading, lo ! the inevitable pit. 
Fronting the desperate feet; no turning back, 
Nor outlet, but through black depths worse than death ! 
Hardly a word we spoke ; our purpose showed 
Too clear for speech. I carried in my belt 
A dagger, as our Georgian use enjoins. 
And she, my bane, and yet my love, my joy, 

83 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Poiuted to it, and witli hei* little hand 

Tried its keen edge, and motioned toward the doors 

Here, where my brother slept, there, wliere our guest, 

With such a dreadful smile as leaves a man 

A devil. But I dared not do the thing. 

And whispered, ^Not my brotlier.' But she signed 

'Both; it were useless else.' And as I shrank 

With tottering limbs, '^Quick; I will come with you.' 

And seized the light, and noiseless gained the door 

Wliere lay the Prince asleep. 

One stab, one groan. 
And all was done. Then silently we went 
To where our poor dupe lay. One stab again 
And all was done, and we were free to reap 
The fruit of crime; free, said I.'' — nay, but bound 
With heavier chains than these. 

But when 't was done 
One peril still remained. 'T was all in vain 
Should we not hide the deed ! She bade me wake 
An ancient serving-man, who from a boy 
Had served my house : him, with what lie I know not 
Of sudden passion and revenged oiFence, 
I did persuade, so that he should conceal 
That which was done, and with me bear the dead 
To burial, and, since 't was their fitting end, 

84 



A GEORGIAN ROMANCE 

Should lay them side by side. At dead of night 
None seeing us, we laid them in the mould 
Beneath the trees, and with the morning feigned 
A story of their flight. In our wild hills 
Such things are frequent, overwhelming gusts 
Of furious passion, chilled and quenched in blood. 
And none would doubt the story. So we dwelt, 
I and the partner of my guilt, secure 
In the old house ; and all men pitied us, 
Wlio by one stroke of pitiless fortune lost 
She the dear husband of her love, and I 
My destined bride. Fain had we ended there 
The tale of black offence, but still remained 
One damning witness. The poor serving-man 
Who knew our innocent victims had not fled 
And where they lay, held o'er our heads a sword 
Suspended by a hair. How could we rest 
^\Tiile this man lived? Sure 'twas a little thing 
If we who sinned so deeply sinned once more.'' 
What was a poor serf's life that we should spare it 
Who had shed noble blood.'' And so it came 
That ere a little month had staled our wrong 
The poor soul died. So sudden was his end 
Men talked of poison, but since none could trace 
What enemy was his, they asked no more. 

85 



HARVEST-TIDE 

'T was but a nine days' wonder, but perchance 
He knew some perilous secret of the Great. 

Then seemed we safe indeed, and lived awhile 
In decent seeming grief within the walls 
Which now were mine ; but (as 't was noised abroad,) 
The losses we deplored, the empty halls 
Filled with the haunting Past, the corridors 
Echoing at night the sounds of ghostly feet. 
Troubled our peace. No more the ancient home 
She loved, nor I, but loathed it. Most of all 
We loathed to pass those dreadful doors which hid 
A double murder. Therefore, as the heir 
Of the Prince, if dead he were, or as his steward 
Till his return, if still he walked the earth. 
To a rich neighbour I demised his lands 
And old ancestral towers. Then we sped forth, 
I and my widowed sister, in feigned grief 
But secret joy, seeking to hide ourselves 
From prying eyes, as natural law ordains 
The afflicted should, and separate awhile. 
By different roads, our name and rank concealed. 
At length we came together and were wed 
By some poor priest, and lived a peaceful life 
For three brief years, tranquil, sometimes and calm 
As from a blameless Past, but ofttimes stirred 
86 



A GEORGIAN ROMANCE 

By sudden storms. All ! dark uupityiiig- Fate^ 
Which kept our lives asunder, lives that sought 
Each other, but in vain, till Love was sin. 
And sin bred crime. 

Far in the frozen North, 
In a grey castle 'mid wolf-haunted pines. 
We made our home. Three little years we spent 
Together, — 'twas not long for us who bought 
Our gain so dear, — nor was it peace indeed. 
We knew, but rather conscience drugged asleep. 
Starting with sudden fears — a nightmare dream. 
From which we woke with staring eyes and lips 
That syllabled murder — for between our souls, 
Clinging together, rose the ghostly slain, 
Tlie strong man, the weak woman, the poor serf. 
All dead and by our hands. And yet I think 
We were not all unhappy. Time can wither. 
Not Hope alone but holds an anodyne 
To blunt the tooth of conscience. Not remorse, 
But dread and coward fears, o'ershadowing all. 
Blighted our lives, till long security 
Brought scarce disturbed content; — 'twas little gain 
For two souls damned for ever. 

Till at last. 
When the sad Past grew dim, a horrible dread 
87 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Rose with a flaming sword and drave us forth 

From that poor guilty Eden. For we read 

'How the new Lord of our lost home commanded 

That they should delve hard by^ some little dyke. 

And when 't was done, behold two skeletons 

Lay side by side. And tho' 't was no strange matter 

In our wild Caucasus of passionate feuds, 

Wliere blood flows fast as water, here was proof 

Of dreadfuUer than wont. For when they raised 

The poor remains ; upon the finger-bone 

Of the taller shone an emerald sigziet-ring. 

Which all men knew, and 'twas the Prince my 

brother's. 
Who never left his home, but lay beneath 
His old ancestral trees, and by his side 
A woman's slenderer form. What mind could doubt 
It was the missing girl, whose flight they mourned 
For three long years .-^ Nay, nay, she had not fled. 
No secret tale of shame was buried with them 
Wlio lay there thus at rest. The dead girl's honour 
Showed stainless now, and her great kinsfolk's pride 
Saved from reproach. They mingling grief with joy, — 
Grief she was dead, joy she was pure, — made oath 
To avenge her, and the sleuth-hounds of the law. 
Already loosed upon her murderers' track, 

88 



A GEORGIAN ROMAN'CE 

Quested, as yet in vain. WTiere had they gone, 
The false wife and her blood-stained paramour? 
They should be trapped, since still on Russian soil 
Doubtless they lurked in hiding.' When I read 
These damning words, fain had we turned to fly. 
But whither.'' since the guarded frontier rose 
A wall of brass before us. So we stayed. 
In hopeless hope that haply the great peril 
Might pass us by, as, trembling in each limb. 
The hapless quarry, waiting, hears the cry 
Of the hot chase grow louder, nearer still. 
And scai-cely dares to breathe. And for long months 
Our silent trackless forests and deep snows 
Baffled the hunters, till, though pale and worn 
By long suspense, my guilty love and I 
Thought once more we were safe. 

Then one grim day 
Last autumn, when the southward-flying sun 
Had gone, and taken life and hope with it, 
There as we sat within the ruddy glow 
Of the piled hearth, cheering the solitude. 
Two guilty loving hearts, while all around 
The tokens of our ill-got wealth relieved 
The gloom without, sweet flowers and gems of price 
Rich hangings, and the golden light which keeps 
89 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Perpetual June amid the sunless gloom 

Of Yule^ our summons came. Sudden the door 

Swung open, and upon the warmth and light 

Of luxury a dank and deadly chill 

As from an open grave. A rattle of arms. 

And quick, the stern-eyed officers of law 

Stood round us, and we knew the end was come, — 

The end of guilty dalliance, — the end 

Of long anxieties. For it was Death 

That knocked, and Vengeance, and the Powers of Hell. 

And then they severed us, without a word. 
Only one long last kiss, and locked her fast 
A prisoner in our chamber in the tower. 
She had no power to speak, nor chance to doif 
Her gems of price, but like a Queen she went 
To her doom, for such it was. Great God ! how fair 
She showed, as, flushed with some strange counterfeit 
Of innocence, and eyes that blazed like fire 
With proud contempt, she put from her the hands 
That would have hindered. As she reached the stair 
She turned and looked on me, and in her gaze 
I read a mute farewell, while at my belt 
Her eyes seemed seeking something, and I knew 
Once more what 't was they sought. But neither blade 
Nor arm was there. Then I saw fade and die 
90 



A GEORGIAN ROMANCE 

The fury from her eyes^ and in its stead. 
Writ legibly for love's keen gaze to see, 
A dreadful purpose, offspring of despair. 

Then with their pitiless skill, till night was near. 
In that luxurious room, where late we sat 
Alone, with none to mark us, deep content 
Soothing each sense, they plied their torturing art 
Of question ; an inextricable net 
They wound around us mesh by mesh, while I, 
Like a poor bird caught in the fowler's toils. 
Was powerless to escape. Fain had I bade them 
Forbear and I would tell them all, such horror 
Of that sad tale, retold in icy words. 
Possessed me ; but remembering who it was 
Who shared my guilt, hopeless I wandered on. 
Tightening the noose around our lives, but still 
Denying all. 

Tlien, when some mocking gleam 
Of hope relieved despair, what shriek assailed 
My agonised ears? what body flashed and fell 
Past the tall windows from the height above 
With a dull crash on the new-fallen snows. 
Staining them red .'' Ah me ! I knew too well. 
I saw death in her eyes when up the stair 
Silent she swept. Then, not with grief, but joy 
91 



HARVEST-TIDE 

That she was safe from men, her fate fulfilled. 

And I need lie no longer, '^See,' I cried, 

'She is dead. You shall know all. We two together 

Did those dark deeds. 'T was Love that urged us on. 

Not that of spouse or bride or brother, but Love 

That bui'ns our lives with fire. Now she has gone. 

Beyond the reach of vengeance on the earth 

Let me go too. We did it, we together. 

None else ; we stabbed them in their dreamless sleep ; 

They did not cry, nor suffer much, I think ; 

'T was a swift blow. And one there was beside 

Who bare them forth to burial. Listen to me ! 

I poisoned him, because we dared not trust 

.Our dreadful secret with him. That is all. 

I do not wish to live. Respect, I pray you. 

That mangled corpse, for she was innocent 

In the law's eye and noble. Ye who live 

In bonds of happy love for wife and child. 

Pity us if you can. I do give thanks 

To all the Powers that rule and mar our lives. 

No child of ours shall know its parents' shame. 

Deal with me as you will.' 

But my wrecked life 
They spared, since I was noble. Ah ! the farce 
Of rank and false nobility which gilds 
92 



A GEORGIAN ROMANCE 

So oft the ignoble brow ; but in this place 

All men are equal, as they are in Hell, 

And I shall spend my manhood in the depths 

Of the dark mine, nor put aside the load 

Of misery till manhood wanes, and age 

Blunts the desire to live. Say, was it she — 

My love, who was a wife tender and true 

Till the sad day we met ; who had no thought 

For any but her lord, but lived bright years 

Of faithful wedlock— she, who bade me slay 

Her love and mine together? Was it I, 

The blameless student, whose calm eye disdained 

The spell of venal beauty — I, whose thought 

Dwelt ever on the heights, and daily walked 

In converse with the mighty dead of Time, 

With Plato and with Socrates, and him 

Who took all knowledge for his own, and him 

The Saint of the old East, and Him whose Voice 

The round world hears, but heeds not, and the choir 

Of Saints and Sages blest ; I, whose soft heart 

Sickened at blood and pain ; who did this wrong? 

Or do men bear twin natures, one of Heaven 

And one of Hell? Or is it that to-day. 

Despite the gains of Time, the Word Divine, 

The counsels of Perfection, with their law 

93 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Of Mercy to all things ; and Purity 

And Justice^ still a vengeful Ate' drives 

Our lives to ruin^ and a cruel Fate, 

Unpitying and resistless as of old. 

Turns men to devils? Let me meet my fate; 

I care not what shall come. If I should die, 

'T were well ; or should I live, perchance long years 

May dim the dreadful Past, and leave my age 

Cleansed by retributive pain. At least I lose 

The haunting fear, the cold voice threatening doom. 

Nor yet am wholly damned." 

These things I heard. 
And, musing as I went, I knew again 
The old voice heard before, "There is an end 
Of Wrong and Death and Hell." 



94 



WHITHER ? 

Tread down oh Man, beneath thy feet, the brute, 
Not that the sinless, innocent brute which still 
Goes on its way unshamed, undoubting, mute. 
Obedient to the pre-ordained will. 

But that which deep within your nature lurks 
Unseen, nay scarce suspected ; tooth and claw- 
Red with the stain of age-long time, and works 
Beneath the dull unpitying primal law. 

Put off the curse of war, the shame of strife 
Make thou the hates, the miseries to cease. 
But yet forget not that the flower of life 
May wither in the windless glai'e of Peace. 

The Heaven our souls desire is more than rest. 
Act is our Law, our Joy, our highest meed ; 
By work and that alone our souls are blest 
And whoso gains it, he is blest indeed. 

Remember thou of how great dignity 
Is he who sees life whole and sees it one 
95 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Who knows the Past, and what the world shall be, 
Full grown when its long pupilage is done. 

Put off the satyr with his carnal leer 
Put off alike the tiger and the ape 
Keep justice, love, and reasonable fear 
Immortal Spirit clothed in mortal shape ! 

Put off alike the worldling and the saint. 

The aims, too thin, all earthy, grovelling things 

The curse of greed, the aspirations faint 

For heights too cold and far, for flagging wings. 

Put off the ascetic, shun the sensual sty. 
Scorn not our dual Nature, nor let Pride 
Exchange for fruitful earth the barren sky. 
Since Earth and Heaven are here and side by side. 

Let Woman be the equal mate of Man, 
And let the love of all the race inspire 
With deeper glow than earthly passion can 
A soul that kindles with diviner fire. 

Fulfilled with calm beneficent liturgies 
Keep thy undaunted soul, content to sleep, 
96 



WHITHER? 

If such thy Fate^ for ever, or to rise 

When the Voice calling wakes thy slumbers deep ; 

The Voice Divine which sounds from soul to soul, 
Tlie Voice which still from Youth to Age doth call, 
Unceasing though the earth forget to roll, 
And all her wandering sisters swerve and fall. 



97 



BY TOWY-SIDE 

OiV these fair meads, through half a summer-day 
Beside the blue-eyed river-deeps I lie, 

There comes no sound to chase my dreams away. 
Nor veil to hide the clear reflected sky, 

The low hills smile around on either hand. 

And up the vale the solemn mountains stand. 

No change for half a changeful century. 
Fair river, hast thou known, since I, a boy. 

Would haste of summer noons to plunge in thee, 
Snatching unmarked a dear forbidden joy ; 

Nor shall a thousand centuries passing trace 

One wrinkle on thy smooth unageing face. 

Sweet wandering Towy, sinuous, silvery, 
Glide on by town and tower, unchanging glide. 

Pursue thy path of beauty to the sea. 

Till thy flow weds the salt inrushing tide ! 

Thus rolled of old thy undiscovered flood, 

When the new world was born in pain and blood. 

Within thy depths, ere man had come to birth. 
Dread mailed forms with gory jaws would lurk, 
98 



BY TOWY-SIDE 

Tlie ravening monstrous shapes which swayed the earth, 

Ere Nature framed her last consummate work ; 
Thou sawest within thy ooze huge Saurians lie. 
And wide-winged spoilers hurtling thro' the sky. 

And then for age on age, when Man arose. 
The gibbering savage mirrored in thy deep ; 

Red wars, oppressions, hatreds, countless woes, 

Rude hearts that broke, while Mercy seemed asleep, 

While thou, thro' those dim generations gone 

Unchanged, unruffled, flow'dst serenely on. 

And then thro' all our fateful history. 
Long centuries of war and cruel strife : 

Our Wales o'erborne, our Britain free and great ; 
Our old race rising with renascent life; — 

Still from thy cold hill-fountains didst thou come 

To seek as we the Deep which is our home. 

Men come, men pass, but thou flow'st seaward still. 
Brute Nature, thou immortal art alone ! 

Tlie sea, the stream, the plain, the heavenward hill 
Built high with ramparts of eternal stone ; 

We who have life and breath, we faint, we die, 

Ye only view unmoved the unchanging sky. 

L.o* C. 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Yon towns and towers shall fall ; the land lie hare 
Or choked with forests dense ; and on thy shore 

The flocks, the herds, the bathers come no more, 
None there shall be to mark that thou art fair. 

Only the lone hills shall encompass thee, 

Thy comrades blind and dumb while Time shall be. 

Thou shalt glide still, fair stream, uncaring on. 
Till sea shall be no more, nor earth nor sky. 

Till all the hapless race of men be gone, 

And some dread fire shall burn thy fountains dry. 

Thou in thy changing flow unchanging art. 

As is the unchanging changeful human heart. 

Glide on, O silent stream : I would a tongue 
Were thine, to chant the mysteries of Time ! 

By one weak voice thou shalt not pass unsung, 
Glide to Life's sea continual, sublime. 

Thou shalt not pass away unrhymed so long 

As men have ears to hear a humble song. 



100 



PILGRIMS 

Slowly against the gradual slope^ 
Following the morning gleam of hope, 
With feeble forces slow. 
Our childish footsteps go ; 
From flower to flower we stray. 
To cheer our upward way. 
Till the day draws to noon. 
And our life's year to June. 

And then while Springtide cheers us still, 
We press with Youtli's impatient feet 
High thoughts and fancies sweet. 
Against the cloud-wrapt hill. 
Higher we mount, and higher. 
Beneath the tyrannous sun 
Which, till the day is done. 
Burns with unsparing fire. 

Love whispers flutter in tlie breeze. 
Love rests within the grateful shade. 
Safe hid 'neath secular trees. 
Our summer home is made. 
101 



HARVEST-TIDE 

A little, little while 
The enchanted noon-tides smile. 
Till o'er the summits far. 
Behold the evening star. 

And then our failing feet again 
Slope down to the forsaken plain, 
No more the snows, the skies, 
Dazzle our weary eyes. 
But dewy twilights deep. 
And light and warmth of home, 
Where, ere the nightfall come. 
Love giveth rest and sleep. 

Oh, sacred Love, still at my Nide, 
My feeble faltering footsteps guide. 
Oh blessed Pi-esence still. 
Upon Life's rugged hill. 
Let thy protecting arm 
Save us from hurt and harm. 
Guide Thou us, lest we stray 
Far from Thy perfect way. 



102 



AN OLD POET 

My hand, my pen, lie still. 

My voice is dumb. 
No more, unsought, at will 

Bi-ight visions come ; 
No more on faery meads. 

The light forms dance. 
Nor borne by winged steeds 

Speeds swift Romance 
Along the rugged road, 

With toiling paces slow. 
Bent by Time's heavy load. 

The dull feet go. 

The clear Dawns now shall grow 

For younger eyes, 
I mark no more the glow 

On sunset skies ; 
Fearless across the foam 

The gay barks fleet. 
But mine no more may roam. 

Since rest grows sweet, 
Toil brings its fitting meed 

The haven's rest ; 
103 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Toil has its joys indeed, 
But this is best. 

Let younger footsteps soar 

To snows untrod, 
I strive, I climb no more, 

Musing with God. 
Through the closed gates of home 

Unheeded, half-forgot. 
Fainter the memories come 

Of what is not. 
Tlie Past shows like a dream. 

The Present hurries fast ; 
Courage ! Life's seaward stream 

Flows calm at last ! 



104 



IN PRAISE OF NIGHT 

No breath of moi'iiiug wakes 
The languid dreaming night ; 

Nor through the thick leaves breaks 
A gleam of light. 

But on the brooding calm, 
And ghostly silence deep, 

Is shed a dreamy balm 
Of Rest and Sleep. 

Then sudden, thro' the trees, 
Listening, unstirred around, 

Flutters a fairy breeze 
With whispering sound. 

And straightway from the throat 
Of some half-waking bird. 

One hesitating note. 
Dawn's earliest word. 

And then the tranquil night. 
Faints in the garish ray. — 

Loud song, and broader light, 
Alas ! 't is Day. 

105 



ON AN OLD STATESMAN 

Night falls, nor yet we may discern the Dawn ; 

The sick Age dies, and with it takes the Great, 

Like perfect music trembling to its close. 

Or some full river smoothing to its end. 

Tliou art gone from us, O friend, 

O precious life that so long served the State ; 

Thou art gone from us, and fled. 

To join the undying dead ! 

Dead ! nay, to lie so long breathing reluctant 

breath. 
With fainting forces is not Life but Death ; 
But at the last to 'scape Earth's toil and strife, 
Tliat is not Deatli but Life ! 
Tliat is not Death ! and thou, thou art not dead. 
Strong soul, beloved head. 
The' hidden in some secret sphere afar, 
Some faint, undreamt-of star. 
In God's mysterious infinite air. 
Hidden we know not how, we ask not where ! 
There is no Death, but only change 
To some new higher birth and strange ; 
Tliere is no Death, but thou, thou livest still, 

106 



ON AN OLD STATESMAN 

Brave soul, undaunted will. 
Thou silvery tongue, thou old man eloquent. 
Stout patriot, hater of triumphant wrong. 
Who ever didst despise the ignobly strong ; 
For threescore years to guide our Britain sent. 
There is no Death, nor will we mourn to-day. 
Only our prayers we send to speed thee on tliy way. 
But oh ! if fair faint memories of the Earth 
As is our hope, breathe thro' thy newer life. 
Forget not thou, in that thy higher birth. 
The dear dead Past, thy noble emulous strife. 
The victories of Peace, the friendless weak 
For whom thy swift tongue ever burned to speak. 
Forget not thou our well-loved land, nor yet 
Tlie wider Bi-itain of our hope forget. 
Nor those who on the sad Armenian plain — 
As late on earth thou knewest with bitter pain — 
The Moslem fiend, dishonours, tortures, slays ; 
Nay, in the pauses of the eternal Psalm 
Ceasing a little, while from praise 
Of Him who is ''^most sure in all His ways," 
Wrapt in a holy calm, 
Plead thou and intercede 

For all weak sunken lives that here on earth do 
pine! 

107 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Plead thou, that War's black curse may quickly cease 

In all-pervading Peace, 

And speed, if any voice once mortal can, 

The onward March of Man. 



108 



ON A YOUNG STATESMAN 

IN MEMORIAM: THOMAS ELLIS 

Bala, April 11, 1899 

Here in this place of Peace we make his grave. 

Tranquil, alone, 
Only Llyn Tegid sobs with constant wave, 

llie low winds moan. 

Here as the silent mountains stand around 

Salem, the blest, 
Comes no faint murmur of contentious sound 

To break his rest. 

For this was he whom happy, favouring Fate, 

In manhood's bloom. 
Called to high service of the grateful State, 

And then — the Tomb. 

Child of the people, ever proud to keep 

The ancient tongue, 
The stern strong Faith, the bardic measures deep. 

The old hymns sung. 
109 



HARVEST-TIDE 

The Tiller's lot he knew, borne down, distrest. 

With none to teach, 
Tlie God-sent gifts by ignorance represt 

Fired his swift speech. 

Blossom and fruit of that new Dawn of gold, 

lliat happier Spring, 
Whither our Wales, with lofty hope grown bold 

Spreads her glad wing. 

Ah ! deem it not that he was called from toil. 

To rest too soon, 
Escaping from life's sad years' blight and soil. 

While yet 't was June. 

Whatever is is best. His will be done. 

We dare not weep ; 
Not all His work is wrought beneath the Sun 

Who giveth sleep. 

Sing, sing in faith your hymns ! Give thanks ! Rejoice \ 

"Ac yn ei fedd." 
Let the dead hear his country's grateful \'oice, 

'^'^Duw rho dy hedd." 



110 



LYDSTEP CAVERNS 

Here in these fretted caverns whence the sea 
Ebbs only once in all the circling year. 
Fresh from the deep I lie, and dreamily 
Await the refluent current stealing near. 
Not yet the furtive wavelets lip the shore. 
Not yet Life's too brief interlude is o'er. 

A child might play, where late the embattled deep 
Hurled serried squadrons on the rock-fanged shore, 
Where now the creaming filmy shallows creep, 
White-horsed battalions dashed with ceaseless roar, 
Stirred by no breath, the tiny rock-pools lie 
Glassing in calm the blue September sky. 

The shy sea bares her guarded treasures here. 
Her delicate bosom open to the light. 
Unclothed I lie, where never foot comes near, 
Unshamed as 't were in watches of the night. 
Fine as a maiden veil of thinnest lawn. 
From the white strand the creamy vesture drawn. 

Here in the cool recesses of the cave. 
The' sweet to lie, to dream, 't were doom to sleep, 
111 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Lest sudden some impatient crested wave. 
High-horsed, unbitted from the outer deep, 
Shut fast the gate of life, and choked the breath. 
And left me prisoned in the vaults of death. 

To-day the many-hued anemone. 

Waving expands within the rock-pools green. 

And swift transparent creatures of the sea 

Dart through the feathery sea-fronds, scarcely seen. 

Here all to-day is peaceful calm and still. 

Here where in storm the thundering breakers fill. 

Here where the charging ocean-squadi'ons rave, 

And seethe and shatter on the sounding shore. 

And smite this high-arched roof, and wave on wave 

Fall baffled backward, with despairing roar. 

Or fling against the sheer cliffs overhead. 

And sow these vaults with wreckage and the dead ; 

Now all is still. Yet ere to-day is done. 
Where now these fairy runnels thread the sand 
Five fathoms deep, the swelling tides shall run 
Round the blind cave, and swallow rock and strand, 
And this discovered breast on which I lie 
Shall clothe itself again with mystery. 
112 



LYDSTEP CAVERNS 

Here through the rayless darkness of to-night, 
Great fishes^, fiery-eyed, with ravening jaw. 
Hungering will sail, and gorge, and rend, and bite. 
Obedient to the pitiless primal law. 
And black eels, slimy, sinuous, haste to tear 
The hapless swimmer drowned and drifting there. 

And from their secret hollows in the deep. 

Mailed things obscene, hooked claw and waving horn 

Where now I lie, will thronging dart and ci-eep 

To batten on the violate limbs forlorn, 

Great devil-fish with strangling arms will cling, 

And sting-rays flap and slide on impish wing. 

And then again the ebbing tide will spurn 

The dank, dead thing which lived and thought to-day 

Or haply whirl it when its forces turn 

To the lone plains of ocean, leagues away. 

Sunk in its rayless depths for evermore. 

Or flung dishonoured on some alien shore. 

So full is Nature of unrest and change. 
So wasteful of her work, so deaf, so blind. 
So careful of her brute decretals strange, 
So careless of the empery of mind. 
113 



HARVEST-TIDE 

To her the hearts that burn, the souls that soar. 
Are as her humblest weed and nothing more. 

Yet like the soul in this, her fullest tide 
Ebbs furthest, and her inmost deeps lays bare ! 
Turn refluent wave and swiftly deepening hide^ 
These haunted rare-revealed abysses fair. 
There is a calm more perilous than strife. 
Better the droughts, the steeps, the glare of life ! 



114 



LUX IN TENEBRIS 

Ah ! what is life ? A flickeriug fii-e 
That on the black vault feebly burns, 

A force which struggles to aspire. 
Then sudden, quenclied to earth returns. 

And what is Truth? Our striving eyes 
Pursue in vain the fleeting light ; 

Beyond the darkling hills it flies 

And ere we gain them, lo ! the Night. 

And what is Knowledge, but a gleam, 

A little light, a puny spark, 
A phantasy, a ghost, a dream, 

Wliich only glimmers in the dark.'' 

The low sun sinks, the night is here. 

Life, Truth, and Knowledge fade and die ; 

But from the illimitable sphere. 

New suns unnumbered light the sky. 



115 



ON THE THAMES EMBANKMENT 

( August 1897 ) 

In the hush of the midsummer night 

The roar of the City grew still. 

There shivered a breeze thro' the sentinel trees, 

Like a thin ghost fleeing the light. 

Then the Dawn came up di-eary and chill. 

And not another sign of life might be 

But the black river rolling seaward sullenly. 

But, there by the parapet side. 

Oh ! what is that pitiful throng 

Stretched supine, drowned deep in the waters of sleep, 

Dotting the riverside pavement wide. 

Like sere leaves down the vistas long ; 

That sum of hopeless, homeless misery 

Fringing the sullen river labouring to the sea.'' 

At times from Dome and from Tower, 
High minster and abbey gray. 
Falls the solemn swell of the echoing bell 
With its knell of the world's dark hour. 
With its hope of the heavenly Day ; 
116 



ON THE THAMES EMBANKMENT 

But not a sound reaches those hapless ears 
Drugged deep by drink and weariness and tears. 

With no rest for the weary head. 

The stern city's outcasts lie. 

Ruined lives brief and long, the feeble, the strong. 

With the granite their only bed, 

Sad comrades in misery ; 

And the mouldering obelisk rears it wedge sublime 

As erst by the old Nile in the infancy of Time. 

Ah ! beneficent magic of sleep. 

Fair country of dreams thrice blest, 

Wliere old hearts grow young and old love songs are 

sung, 
Where the tired eyes forget to weep. 
^Vhere the stiffened limbs loosen in rest. 
And folly, failure, wantonness, nay, crime. 
Seem cleansed in those still depths, and all the stains 

of time. 

There they dream till the aching limb. 

Wakes the sleeper to life's dull pain. 

And the hoarse croak of Death chokes the labouring 

breath 
And the dulled senses, happily dim, 
117 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Seem barbed with new anguish again ; 
And still no happier sight or sound may be 
Than the black river labouring sullen to the sea. 

But to one poor wanderer there 
Comes the trampling of measured feet, 
And the harsh command, which constrains him to stand 
In the dark lantern's blinding glare 
With a heart that forgets to beat ; 
Not thus his long dead mother woke her son 
When work and bread were his and the brief night was 
done. 

"Move on!" rings the short, sharp word, 

But where shall the wanderer go, 

With no share from birth in the niggardly earth. 

More homeless than beast or tlian bird? 

Whither carry his burden of woe.^ 

Yet the Law speaks, and he must needs obey. 

And hopeless fare alone upon his desperate way. 

Then he sprang with a bitter cry 
From his lair on the cold, hard stone, 
Stood a moment upright in the Dawn's drear light. 
Then, bidding his comrades "Good-bye," 
Leapt into the depths with a groan, 
118 



ON THE THAMES EMBANKMENT 

A plunge, a sound, and that wrecked life is gone, 
While the black leaden river rolls unheeding on. 

Only a wanderer's life. 
One of myriads who linger behind. 
Crushed to earth, trampled down by the merciless town. 
And its cruel struggle and strife. 
Not the less to a questioning mind 
These sad tales preach the solemn mystery 
Of Life, and Fate, and Death, and the dark swallowing 
Sea. 



119 



IN PRAISE OF DECEMBER EVENINGS 

Slow on the waning landscape creeps the night, 
On hill and plain the gathering shadows fall. 
Till, last, soft darkness like a velvet pall. 
Veils all the fading fields and blinds the sight ; 
Then from the hidden hamlets here and there. 
From hillside cot, or stately mansion fair. 
Clear through the frosty, or the milder air. 
Twinkles home's beacon-light. 

Dear, swift December evenings, homelier far 
Than are June's perfumed twilights, warm and still, 
Her saffron skies, and primrose evening star. 
Her golden sunsets on the purple hill. 
Her sports upon the green, her village boys 
Chasing the bounding ball with merry noise. 
Her dreaming lovers' visionary joys 
Which fill young spirits still. 

Thine is a sober loveliness, denied 
To those glad twilights of triumphant June, 
When all the flower-lit fields are glorified. 
And Love and Youth move to a joyous tune ; 
120 



IN PRAISE OF DECEMBER EVENINGS 

Too strongs too fast, the impetuous pulses come. 
Too restless for the calm content of home, 
Too far afield the impatient fancies roam 
In Life's young Summer-tide. 

But thou, in solemn robes of sombre grey. 
The wayward, wandering fancy dost recall. 
Thy star-sprent mantle hides the dying day. 
Gently thy kindly, brooding shadows fall ; 
By June's rich voice Love's melodies are sung, 
The glad, the blithe unreason of the young; 
Thine the low tranquil tones, the silvery tongue 
Which calms and comforts all. 

Fall, swift December evening, not with snow. 
Rude blast, or drenching i-ain, but clear and fine, 
With breathless calm, or West-wind whispering low. 
Till Yule-tide brings again its hope divine ! 
Summer is gone, with anxious hopes and fears ; 
Life's tranquil, wintry joys, its precious tears. 
The lamp that lights, the hearth which warms and 

cheers. 
Are all, are only, thine ! 



121 



THE UNIOiX OF HEARTS 

AN ODE 

The Spaniard has fallen ! has fallen ! Give thanks and 

rejoice, 
Great West, with a consonant voice ; 
The Spaniard has fallen, the blight of the ages has 

fled. 
And for ever the rule of the priest and the monk lies 

dead 
Upon the Philippine and Cuban shore. 
By the Pacific and the Carib sea 
The savage Spanish soldier comes no more. 
The isles once more are free. 
No more the down-trod peoples cry in vain, 
In long-unheeded pain ; 
They are free, they are free once more, after rebellious 

years 
Of misery and tears. 

Famine, Oppression, Torture, Murder, long 
Stalked through the land, and all the hosts of Wrong, 
But now the black night spent, the reign of Evil done. 
High in the unwonted skies a miracle appears. 
And from the West ascends the fair unhoped-for Sun. 

122 



THE UNION OF HEARTS 

Thrice happy are the eyes which mark 

Amid the unbroken dark, 

A feeble, struggling ray, 

Tlie first precursor of approaching day, 

We who live now, midst crash of shot and shell. 

And wreck, and blood, and fire as fierce as hell, 

Discern a wonder to renew the Earth, 

New-mailed to-day a Titan comes to birth. 

Born late in Time, the Empire of the Free, 

Lording the West, co-heiress of the Sea, 

By whose strong arm and stronger thought and word 

Shall all mankind be stirred ; 

A might which joined with England's shall increase 

The happier doom of Man, the victories of Peace. 

Strong were our brave forefathers bold, 
Wlio fought the stubborn Don before, 
On many a perilous sea and tropic shore. 
In those adventurous days of old ; 
Who chased his towering galleons one by one 
From sea to storm-tossed sea, from shoal to rock. 
Till that great tempest blew fierce with resistless shock. 
And God accomplished what their hands began. 
Laud we the dauntless sailors, whose rude might 
Saved Europe and the world from the long curse 
Of the priests' crooked ways, and worse, 
123 



HARVEST-TIDE 

The Ignorance lie loves as bats the night. 

Not yet a century has fled since he. 

Champion of every European sea, 

P'ought in his little ship of English oak 

With those proud banded fleets, and broke 

Not Spain alone, but spurned the tyrant's yoke 

Which menaced all the trembling world ; and kept 

Inviolate our motherland, who bore 

The mighty empire we acclaim to-day — 

Our daughter who shall keep 

Dominion o'er the deep 

WTien we and all our power have passed away. 

Laud we our watchful sires who never slept, 

But kept alive, undimmed, by land and sea 

A beacon fire, the Freeman's sovereignty. 

Laud them, but never let our thought forget 
Tlie fresh wounds bleeding yet ; 
Tlie brave knights-errant who by land and sea, 
'Mid pestilence and misery, 

'Neath blinding suns, and glai-e, hunger and thirst. 
Sought only who should face the foeman first. 
Mown down by shot and shell, yet climbing still 
Against those grinning casemates on the hill ; 
For hours untended 'neath a tropic sky. 
Left hopeless in the pitiless glare to die. 
124 



THE UNION OF HEARTS 

Young lives for whom till then. Life's primrose way 
Lay smiling uneventful day by day. 
Sons worthy of their sires, who willing gave 
Wealth, health, love, life itself to free the slave. 
But those for home and country fought, while they 
For alien sufferings flung their lives away. 

And praise those strong new Paladins of to-day 
Who keep alive our glorious story still. 
The dauntless seamen who with patient skill 
^V^aiting on daring, drove the hapless prey 
To wreck and ruin, while the unerring stroke, 
Of giant bolts the steel-mailed cruisers broke. 
Scatheless themselves, and yet whose pitiful hand 
Succoured the vanquished. Worthy sons are they 
Of Drake or Nelson, or that gallant band 
Those later heroes of their own loved land, 
^Vho bore for all to mai*k, the chivalry 
And daring of the Sea. 

Nor shall a generous people yet 
Their eulogy forget 

VV^ho fought a hopeless fight and fought it well ; 
The humble lives which in the blazing hold 
Half-naked, bleeding, dreadful to behold, 
Braved the dread doom of fire, 
125 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Who lately from the leaguered harbour weut 

With lace and cross and warlike ornament 

To death as to a feast. Stout hearts and undismayed ! 

Not to the free alone, but to the slave 

'T is given to be brave. 

Nor lastly shall our souls forget 

The mighty silent sister, whose strong fleets 

Stud each discovered sea. 

Whose warm heart after age-long discords beats 

Oh, sister land in harmony with thee ! 

But for her watchful squadrons who can tell 

What stress of sordid jealousies befell, 

What hindering force of harm. 

The glorious work of thy avenging arm .'' 

'T was England's might secured thy work to thee ! 

Kinsman to kin allied, freeman to free. 

Together oh, great sisters, ever keep. 

Together rule the highway of the Deep, 

Together sound the knell of tyranny. 

Swear a great oath that Thought and Man are free ! 

Together raise a beacon from afar. 

The Light of Equity too strong for War, 

Together let your tranquil realms increase. 

Till all the future of mankind is Peace ! 



126 



SIR GALAHAD 

Let others sing with earthy lays 

Of women fair or brown ; 
Not such the Goddess that I praise 

As worthy of a crown. 
A snowy neck, a sparkling eye. 

Red lips and rippling hair. 
Not these the charms for which I sigh. 

Not these adorn my fair. 

Let those who will, with crapulous mirth. 

Exalt the praise of wine ; 
I hold their joys of little worth, 

Not such a worship mine. 
To the enfranchised soul and thought 

The sordid gains of sense 
And mean delights are less than nought 

Compared with innocence. 

But let me chase from vale to hill 

My visionary Love ; 
Pursuing ever, baffled still. 

Yet beckoned from above. 
127 



HARVEST-TIDE 

From youth to age, from life to death. 
This dream my soul shall keep 

Till with my last expiring breath 
I wake at length from sleep. 



128 



A CAROL 

Dark are the days, the nights are long, 

Blithe Summer's joys are done, 
Yet in our hearts we keep the Sun, 

And raise a cheerful song. 
Bare is the world, or deep in snow. 

Yet are our souls aglow. 
What spell is this, what still mysterious voice. 

That calls "Rejoice! Rejoice!" 

It is, that on the weary earth 

With every dying year 
A great hope dawns, a glorious birth. 

Returns our souls to cheer. 
Again, again, the Eternal Child, 

The Virgin-Mother mild. 
Ring, joy-bells, ring, clear through the frosty air. 

Ring gladness everywhere. 

Sound, gracious as that hea\'enly word 

Of old in Bethlehem, 
By night of wondering shepherds heard. 

When angels spake with them. 
129 



HARVEST-TIDE 

''Peace, peace on earth to faithful men," 

This be our strain as then. 
To-day, to-day let all rejoice indeed, 

Whate'er their form of creed. 

Peace be and joy ! Ay, though it seem 

To world-worn eyes and ears 
Across dark g-ulphs of strife and tears. 

Only a heavenly dream. 
Divine, divine our souls shall hold 

Those precious words of old. 
Goodwill and peace to men — the halt, the blind. 

The poor, nay, all mankind. 

Therefore we raise our cheerful song, 

A strain of solemn mirth. 
Our hope is clear, our faith is strong, 

In a regenerate Earth. 
No doubt shall come our eyes to dim. 

Or check our faithful voice, 
To Peace on Earth, we raise our Christmas hymn, 

Whose burden is "Rejoice." 



130 



AT THE POPULAR CONCERTS 

( 1868-98 ) 

Silent with listening soul I hear. 
Strains hushed for many a noisy year, 
The passionate chords which wake the tear, 
Tlie sweet old love-songs dear. 

The dreams of youth surround me still, 
Thin thronging ghosts the benches fill, 
The old hopes glow, the old fears chill. 
Dead aspirations thrill. 

A little graver, or more gray. 
Though thirty years have fled away. 
Scarce changed, the same musicians play 
Tlie self-same themes to-day. 

How swift Time fleets, yet here how slow. 
How scant the visible changes show. 
New hopes inspire, new empires grow. 
Yet still the master's bow 

With magic wakes the slumbering string; 
Glad tears, the slow bass gains to bring; 
131 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Tlie silvery, swift sonatas ring, 
High soaring voices sing. 

'T is I am changed, yet ah ! not cold. 
Oh, precious tones and strains of old, 
Still round Life's warring discord fold 
Linked harmonies of gold. 



132 



SHINE CLEAR, SHINE BRIGHT 

Shine clear, shine bright, celestial wells of light, 
And pierce the mists that bound our earthly sight, 
Dispel, disperse night's gathered shades away. 
Till the dawn broadens into perfect day. 

Sound pure, sound clear, upon the listening ear. 
High faultless accents of the starry sphere ; 
Silence earth's warring cries of doubt and pain. 
And wake the primal harmonies again. 

Calm blessed hands unfelt, rebellious sense. 

With the cool vestal touch of innocence. 

Beam on us still, invisible gaze serene. 

And lift our minds where long our hearts have been. 

Thus only shall our purged spii'its rise 

Thro' sight and touch and hearing to the skies. 

Thus, only our enfranchised souls pursue 

Some ghost, some note, some vesture of the True. 



138 



IN MEMORIAM 
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE 

Ay, tliou hast gained the end 
Of long and glorious strife. 
Consoled by love and friend. 
Thrice blessed life ! 
If all the immortal die 
What gain hath life to give, 
If all the immortal live 
Death brings no sigh ! 

Oh, long life lit with praise 
For Duty nobly done, 
High aims, laborious days. 
And the crown won ! 
Why should we mourn and weep 
That thou dost toil no more? 
At length God gi\'es thee sleep. 
Thy labours o'er i 

The crying of the weak 
Called not to thee in vain ; 
Thy swift tongue burned to speak 
Relief to pain. 

134 



IN MEMORIAM 

The liglitning of thy scorn 
No wrong might long defy, 
Thy ruth for lives forlorn, 
Tliy piercing eye. 

Good Knight ! no soil of wrong 
Thy spotless shield might stain ; 
Thy keen sword served thee long. 
And not in vain. 
Oh, high impetuous soul. 
That, mounting to the Light, 
Spurned'st the dull world's control 
To gain the Right. 

'Mid strife the Century dies — 
Massacre, Famine, War; 
The noise of groans and sighs 
Is borne afar. 

Tlie monstrous cannon roar, 
Tlie earth, the air, are torn, 
'Mid thunderings evermore 
Time's Dawns are born ! 

But thou no more art here. 
But watchest far away. 
Calm in some peaceful sphere. 
The Eternal Day. 
13.5 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Oh^ thou who long didst guide 
Our Britain's loyal will. 
Invisible at her side 
Aid thou her still ! 

Oh, aged life and blest. 
Wearing thy duteous years. 
Enter thou on thy rest; 
We shed no tears ! 

Wear thou thy labours to thy country given, 
Thy eloquent tongue, thy keen untiring brain. 
Thy changeless love of Man, thy trust in Heaven, 
Thy crown of Pain. 



136 



DARK RAYS 

Through the abysses unsuspected roll 

Dark orbs unnoted by the bodily eye 

Yet visible to the soul. 

The labouring ages wane and die. 

Low burns and lower life's expiring sun, 

Man's history is done. 

Yet tho' no eye detect the rayless star 

Shed from those unimagined regions far. 

Blind influences are. 

Yea, though it fail to shine. 

Some dark, invisible light. 

Some secret force malefic or divine 

Pierces the encircling night. 

Not only 'neath high noon's unclouded sky 

Our onward march is spent. 

But with us on our dim uulighted way. 

Mysterious guides are sent ; 

Dark powers unseen for good or ill, 

Direct, mislead, oppress man's hesitating will. 



137 



FOR BRITAIN 
A SOLDIER'S SONG 

( December 1899 ) 

Oh, our Britain is a noble realm, as all the nations know. 
She fought the Don, the Gaul, the Russ, and brought 

their boastings low ; 
She rules the stormy main, she holds full half the earth 

in fee. 
And where her glorious banner flies, there every man 

is free. 

Chorus — Then cheer for noble Britain all, with one ! 

two ! three ! 
Triumphant ever shall she be, o'er land and 

over sea ; 
The sword and gun were never forged could 

make our Mother rue. 
While stalwart arms and loyal hearts are to 

their Country true. 

Maybe the crafty Muscovite would bring her greatness 

down. 
Maybe the Dutchman grudges her her greatness and 

i-enown ; 

138 



FOR BRITAIN 

Our friends across the herring--pond grow spiteful now 

and then. 
So ironclad let her navies be, and hearts of oak her 

men. 

Chorus — Then cheer for noble Britain all, with one ! 

two ! three ! 
Triumphant ever shall she be, by land and 

over sea ; 
The sword and gun were never forged could 

make our Mother rue, 
WTiile stalwart arms and loyal hearts are to 

their Country true. 

Ay, never fear for Britain, let the plotters work their 
will, 

Let them skulk in treacherous ambush, belching fire 
from rock and hill ; 

Though her generals may blunder, though her bravest 
sons are slain. 

Though her best blood flows like water, and the sacri- 
fice seems vain — 

Chorus — Still cheer for noble Britain, and ere yet your 
tears are shed. 
Tend the wounded, feed the children, who 
have lost for you their bread ; 
139 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Never doubt our final triumph, we will rout 

them, never fear, 
When we bolt them from their rat-holes, to 

the open, fair and clear. 

Let us set our teeth together, till the bloody task is 

done, 
Never doubt our final triumph — we will make the 

Burghers run. 
Lance, bayonet, and sabre we will make the rebels feel, 
Krupp himself can forge no truer than our home-made 

Bi'itish steel. 

Chorus — Then cheer for noble Britain all, with one ! 

two ! three ! 
Triumphant ever shall she be, by land and 

over sea ; 
The sword and gun were never forged could 

make our Mother rue. 
While stalwart arms and loyal hearts are to 

their Country true. 

March together! all are comrades, peer and peasant, 

knit in one. 
North, South, East, West, by common bonds, till all 

the peril 's done, 

140 



FOR BRITAIN 

Scotch, Irish, Welsh, Colonial, with our England's 

power and pride. 
One Queen, one Realm, one People, and Columbia at 

our side. 

Chorus — Tlien cheer for noble Britain all, with one ! 

two ! three ! 
Triumphant ever shall she be, by land and 

over sea. 
The sword and gun were never forged could 

make our Mother rue, 
WTiile stalwart arms and loyal hearts are to 

their Country true. 



141 



FROM DAWN TO EVE 

The swift dawn groweth, 

The frail flower bloweth. 

Solemn Eve brings her shades. 

The sweet blossom fades ; 

This is the secret of the ancient Eai-th, 

This is the primal mystery of birth. 

Full noon rides on high, 

Through the shadowless sky. 

Black clouds gather round, 

Fanged with fire big with sound ; 

This is the tale of Life, portentous, strange, 

Chequered with pain, the sport of Time and Change. 

The fountain upspringeth, 

The strong pinion wingeth. 

The weak waters sink down. 

And the tired bird has flown ; 

This is in brief the tale of the breathing of breath. 

This is the sum of man's story from Birth unto Death. 



142 



ON A BIRTHDAY 

( May 24, 1899 ) 

Fourscore long years, fourscore ! 
Maiden and wife and mother, pure and white, 
A blameless life lived in thy people's sight, 
What would our longing more? 

Fourscore blest years to-day. 
Lived on a giddy height, yet not borne down 
By the great burden of the Imperial crown. 
In solitary sway. 

All the long perilous years 

That thou hast ruled, always thy people's Queen, 
Loyal to Law and Freedom hast thou been 
Through joy alike and tears. 

Throned in thy nation's heart 
Tlie despot's crooked ways thou could'st not know ; 
To watch the broadening tide of freedom grow. 
This was thy selfless part. 

Always thy people's pain, 
Thy tender woman's heart with pity stirred ; 
143 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Thy generous hand, thy gracious royal word, 
Were never sought in vain. 

Upon thy widowed throne. 
Seated apart from all in lonely state. 
Alone, thou didst confront thy regal fate, 
Unaided and alone. 

Nay ! for thy royal heart 

Thy people's love sustained ; blest memories still 
Of too brief happiness thy soul could fill 
And nerve thee for thy part. 

Sustained, supported still 
In that deep solitude which hems the great 
A feeble hand to guide the helm of state, 
But an Imperial will. 

And ranged around thy throne 
Children and children's children, puissant, sti-ong. 
His oifspring even as thine, a sceptred throng; 
Nay, thou wast not alone ! 

Of pageantries of state 

Patient, the hills, the seas thou boldest dear, 
A crowned Republican, simple, austere. 
Contented to be great. 

144 



ON A BIRTHDAY 

Oh, aged thin-drawn life, 

Wliose golden thread binds fast the world in peace, 

Not yet, not yet, may thy worn forces cease 

To bar the gates of strife ! 

Thy grandsire flung away 
A people's loyal love thro' stubborn pride ; 
Re-knit to-day the kinsmen side by side. 
Acclaim thy gentle sway. 

No higher glory thine 

Than this, the best achievement of thy life, 
ITiat sister peoples spurning hate and strife 
For peace and love combine ! 

Fourscore such years, fourscore ! 
No greater gift than this high Heaven can send ; 
Front thou unfearing. Mother ! Sovereign ! Friend ! 
What still it holds in store ! 



145 



A FRAGMENT 

Then rose a shout. 
As of a people long-time mute, which found 
A sudden voice and with it power. The cry 
Blending in one loud roar, the unnumbered sum 
Of petty dissonant lives, laughter and tears. 
Rage, terror, 2)leasure, triumph ; mingled, blent 
In one consentient utterance ; burst a flood 
In thunder down the echoing colonnades 
And dim recesses of the storied shrines, 
Where dwelt the elder gods ; big with high dooms 
And presages of Fate. Then, ere it fell. 
The clamour like a bickering thunder rolled 
Afield beyond the city gates, and woke 
The silent river loitering to the sea, 
Till the shy sea-mews wailed. Last on the hills 
Untrodden, dim, which hung 'tween plain and sky, 
Mounting it smote, and on her eyrie roused 
The watchful, nesting eagle, till she raised 
Her half-closed eyelids ; the light-footed fox 
Pricked a keen ear ; all birds and beasts of prey, 
Seeking their meat in silence in the night. 
Paused from the quest a moment at the shock 

146 



A FRy\.GMENT 

Of that strange formless roar. Auou it died^ 

Swallowed in silence ; and the loneliness 

Of that still listening world grew terrible, 

As is the ghostly rush of worlds which wheel 

For ever through the ages dumb and dead ; 

Yet no voice came. But what had been, had been. 



147 



ARMED PEACE 
( January 1899 ) 

The hopes of Humanity fly, the doubts and the terrors 

remain. 
Knowledge droops and the Churches sig-h, and the 

world is girdled with pain, 
Tlie shadow of War broods deep, alike over mainland 

and sea, 
And men's eyes stare vacant of sleep for thought of the 

evils to be. 
Man sickens as under a curse, and only his burdens 

increase. 
Scarce are War's dread calamities worse, than the 

blight of an Armed Peace, 
Deflowered is his innocent youth, brought low is the 

Pride of the Race, 
With its wings that would soar to the Truth, fallen 

earthward in deep disgrace. 
The young men sober and chaste, strong sires of tlie 

ages to come. 
On the stews or the tavern waste the tempez'ate virtues 

of home. 



148 



ARMED PEACE 

The maidens their destined wives, in pure wedlock and 

motherhood sweet, 
Pine uuwedded, unsought, and alone, or dishonour the 

sin-befouled street. 
Allured and engrossed by the cost of the engines of 

slaughter and pain, 
Half the fruits of Science are lost, spent on deadly de- 
vices in vain. 
Overburdened, fettered and bound, faint, despairing, 

ill-housed and ill-fed. 
The workers lie crushed to the ground in a bitter 

striving for bread ; 
In kennels obscene they are pent, where hardly a 

hound should dw ell. 
While the wealth that might free them is spent on a 

nightmare of imminent hell. 
Scarce a pittance is left men to spare for the needs of 

the pitiful throng. 
Who assail them with impotent prayer in vain, tho' 

the suffrage be strong. 
Nor succour to give to the old, the feeble^ the outcasts 

forlorn. 
Who in nakedness, hunger, and cold curse God that 

they ever were born. 



149 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Nor clear A'oice of learning to rouse the slumbering 
spirit and brain, 

Nor Homes of Compassion to house the sad sum of in- 
curable pain. 

For Moloch cries loud for his dead, with a thunderous 
roar, and his shrine 

Craves the flesh of the peoples for bread, and the blood 
of their slaughter for wine. 



150 



THE FORTUNES OF BRITAIN 
( April 1898 ) 

My Britain, they cavil and sneer, 
And bid thee take heed to thy ways, 
Forgetting, oh, Motherland dear. 
Thy secular praise ! 
How wherever thy proud banner flew 
Freedom followed, with order and right. 
And thy sails lit the limitless blue 
Like pillars of Light ! 

Nay, my England, thou wilt not forget. 
Thou the mother and home of the free, 
Tlie bounds by thy Destiny set 
'Twixt the nations and thee. 
Not thine, the mad folly to boast, 
^\lth the braggart delighting in war ; 
But to guard thy inviolate coast, 
And thy children afar. 
No need for their warning is thine 
Lest thou fall from vainglory and pride ; 
Oh, mother of men, half-divine. 
Bearing sway far and wide ! 

151 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Tliough the frost of the Muscovite chain 

The nomads Rome never might tame ; 

Tliough childless France crackle in vain 

Like a thorn-brake aflame. 

With no worthier message to guide 

The peoples wlio bow to her rod. 

Than crowned Wantonness, Faith thrust aside, 

And denial of God ; 

The stiff German's mechanical drill 

Dash to ruin the hopes of the South, 

Till men hear with a wondering chill 

The harsh words of his mouth ; 

Till Armenia, till Hellas again 

Are swept by the Mussulman flood. 

And the loathly Turk triumphs in vain ; 

Through torture and blood. 

None of these know to build up the State 

Reared to Heaven on the rock of the Free, 

Nor dare the Imperial Fate 

Which is given to thee ; 

No offspring of theii's over sea 

Shall replenish the wastes of the earth. 

No empire in days that shall be 

Of their loins, come to birth ; 

They shall pass, while the world marching on 

152 



THE FORTUNES OF BRITAIN 

Takes no heed for their fugitive name, 

But though their brief puissance is gone, 

Shall remember thy fame. 

Thine, oh mother, it is, thine alone. 

The hearts of thy lieges to move. 

To raise up the myriads who groan 

To Freedom through love ! 

From the North to the South thou shalt sway, 

Thou shalt sway from the East to the ^Vest, 

From the Dawn to the setting of Day, 

Thy rule be confest. 

So long as thou workest for Man 

Through Freedom and Justice and Peace, 

Let thy enemies strive as they can. 

Still thou shalt increase. 

Yet not long shall thy Empire endure. 
If thy wandering footsteps have trod 
Crooked pathways, o'ershadowed, obscure, 
Far from Light and from God ; 
Thy strong fleets and armies shall fail, 
Thou shalt fade from the knowledge of men ; 
But march onward, be bold and prevail, 
God helping, till then. 

153 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Not on armies or fleets let thy might : 
Be built, oh dear Motherland sweet, 
But always toward Mercy and Right 
Set thy labouring feet. 
Who in these things rejoiceth ; her pride 
Is the pride of the Faithful and Just, 
And her name shall be glorified 
When all else is dust. 



154 



IN ANOTHER ALBUM 

Flit softly Muse, nor dread too much tliy fate, 
O'er this fair cloistered pleasaunce of the great ; 
Ah me ! through many a close-locked shrine of 

yore. 
Thy young wings flew where now they come no 

more. 
Here amid gathered stores of every art, 
Essay once more to do thy courtly part. 
See, of thy kinsfolk, on the storied wall, 
The taper neck on which the axe should fall ; 
Hard by, her daughter too, the maiden Queen, 
Who broke the tyrannous Spaniard's pride, is seen 
Here with the painter's art, rich ceilings glow. 
And nymph and goddess light the scene below; 
Unfading tapestries enrich the stair. 
And tlie dead grandame still is young and fair ; 
The old East brings the Persian's subtle grace. 
The lattice which reveals, not hides the face. 
The potter's fictile hand, the goldsmith's skill. 
In costly ranks the ordered chambers fill ; 
All precious things, which make existence sweet. 
And dull the tramp of Time's advancing feet. 

155 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Flow gently ink, nor with rude blot deface 
The page a Queenly hand has deigned to grace, 
Crown, Muse, thy head with flowers discreetly gay. 
For Springtide summons, and the hour is May. 



156 



APOLOGIA 

Be failure mine, not fame ; 

Let not the ignorant, applauding crowd 

With coarse Ilosannas loud, 

Worse than the carping critic's venal blame, 

Flout my dishonoured name. 

I alone know the goal I strove to win. 

How strait the gate, how few may enter in. 

How high the white peaks loom upon the skies, 

Too far, too fair, too faint for mortal eyes. 

Brief is our road, evil and few our days. 

Spare them the insult of unworthy praise ! 

Let the conspiring throng 

Laud the obscure, the inarticulate line, 

WTiich, wilfully defrauding sense and song. 

Drags its dull length along. 

Or those whose doggrel Muse delights to teach 

Treasures of gutter-speech. 

Such praise be never mine ! 

Too great, too deep the reverence I owe 

To those whose pious hands were first to sow 

The little seed by Fate decreed to grow, 

157 



HARVEST-TIDE 

To the sweet roses of our English tongue. 

The immortal, honeyed measures sung, 

The lucid radiance fine ; 

Not the dipt speech, the dark mock-mysteries 

Shall ever charm like these. 

Such praise be never mine ! 

But let me still regard with straining sight 

The perilous steep, the yet unconquered height. 

Let me a little higher than the plain. 

Admire, aspire, faint, and recede again. 

Advancing, failing, still 

Not far above the sights and sounds of life. 

The humble hearts of men, the toil, the strife. 

Let me unmarked admire 

The cloud-wrapt heights, the dark gloom dealing fire. 

For should I gain even for a moment's space 

To see the young Apollo face to face. 

Pressing my feet against the sacred hill. 

What gain were it to feel 

Life hid no worthy secret to reveal. 

No thick-veiled heights beyond ; 

And I, knowing how weak my voice and brain. 

Should feel not joy, but an immense despond. 

And for the chequered victories that were. 

Only a blank despair? 

158 



APOLOGIA 

Therefore I seek not praise. 

But with my lot am well content, 

If only, when my days are done, 

Somewhere beneath the aspect of the sun, 

Haply some grateful, humbler soul shall say : 

"Not on himself he spent 

What modest gift was his, nor on wise brains and strong, 

But to the toiling, unregarded crowd 

Of souls, by Time and Labour bent and bowed, 

For solace of their daily bui'den, vowed 

His litany of Song." 



159 



SHERBORNE 

AN ODE 

Sung on its SoOth Anniversary 

April 20, 1900 

I 

'T IS fifty years since last we met to keep our festal day, 

And many are gone, and some are here, tho' wrinkled 

now and grey 
The long dim past grows clearer as we meet, and not in 

vain 
Recall the fleeting days of youth and turn to boys again ! 
Our years increase, our blood runs slow, we hasten to 

gi-ow old, 
But never shall our souls forget, till heart and hand 
are cold ; 

Tlie old school, the dear school, where we were 
boys together ; 

The old days, the dear days of life's young April 
weather. 

AVhen the future filled with gleams of gold the 
musing boyish eye. 

And all the world seemed at our feet, and hope- 
ful hearts beat high ! 
160 



SHERBORNE 

II 

Many have since by East and West found glory or a 
tomb. 

Some toiled for God and country 'mid the city's stifling 
gloom, 

Some midst wrangling of the Forum, or dull chaffer- 
ing of the Mart, 

Have slaved for children and for home, contented with 
their part ; 

Their years increased, their limbs moved slow, they 
hastened to grow old, 

But never did their souls forget, till heart and hand 
were cold ; 

The old school, the dear school, where we were 
boys together ; 

The old days, the dear days of life's young April 
weather. 

When the future filled with gleams of gold the 
musing boyish eye, 

And all the world seemed at our feet, and hope- 
ful hearts beat high ! 



161 



HARVEST-TIDE 

III 

Grey are our heads but still there come bright lads 

with sunny hair, 
The gay throngs wake the cloistered courts where once 

their grandsires vvere, 
Youth, like a red rose, lights the shade with gleams of 

rising day ; 
Dear Lord ! guide Tliou their footsteps while they tread 

life's perilous way. 
Increase their years, make strong their limbs, prepare 

them to grow old. 
But never let their souls forget, till heart and hand 

are cold ; 

The old school, the dear school, where we were 
boys together ; 

The old days, the dear days of life's young April 
weather. 

When the future filled with gleams of gold the 
musing boyish eye. 

And all the world seemed at our feet, and hope- 
ful hearts beat high ! 



162 



SHERBORNE 



We are strangers when we visit now the scenes we 
loved before, 

The playfields and the river where we raced and 
plunged of yore ; 

Youth blossoms, and shall blossom still when centuries 
have gone, 

And young lives, to-day undreamt of, shall press tire- 
less, fearless, on ; 

Their years shall grow, their limbs move slow, and 
they in turn grow old. 

But never may their souls forget, till heart and hand 
are cold ; 

The old school, the dear school, where they were 
boys together ; 

The old days, the dear days of life's young April 
weather. 

Wlien the future filled with gleams of gold the 
musing boyish eye. 

And all the world seemed at their feet, and hope- 
ful hearts beat higrh ! 



163 



HARVEST-TIDE 

V 

Let us band ourselves together, sons of Sherborne, 

young and old. 
Let us swear it by the Minster, while the curfew bell 

is tolled ; 
Come good or evil fortune, bright successes, dreary 

days. 
For the old school which nourished us we thrill with 

love and praise. 
Our years increase, our blood runs slow, we hasten to 

grow old. 
But never shall our souls forget, till heart and hand 

are cold ; 

The old school, the dear school, where we were 
boys together ; 

The old days, the dear days of life's young April 
weather. 

VlTien the future filled with gleams of gold the 
musing boyish eye, 

And all the world seemed at our feet, and hope- 
ful hearts beat high ! 



164 



RHYME, THE CONSOLER 

The injuries of Time, 
The treacherous years. 
Fate's pitiless march sublime. 
Life's hopes and fears. 
Defeats, calamities; 
Their lives scant power in Man, to master such as these. 

There is no comfort left 
In rite or spell. 
For lives of love bereft. 
Or loved too well. 
Long, self-inflicted grief, 
Alas ! Time brings for such nor solace nor relief. 

The princely gains of Tliought, 
Knowledge the Queen, 
No remedy have brought 
For what has been, 
Nor healing balm impart ; 
The philosophic brain soothes not the stricken heart. 

But who with steadfast mind 
And musing eye, 

1G5 



HARVEST-TIDE 

To eitlier fate resigned. 
Questions not why, 
For him, not all in vain 
Rhyme brings with honeyed tones an anodyne to pain. 



166 



A VISION 

Oh^ wonder ! oh, transport ! 

Oh ecstacy ! that fills the purged sight 

With beams of golden light. 

And is this then the old familiar Earth, 

Or a new sphere gained by a second birth? 

As waking from my cloistered slumbers deep, 

I spurn the caves of sleep. 

Oh, wonder surpassing ! 

A hundred suns for one, with constant light. 

Awake the ethereal air and banish Night ; 

Sleep shrinks abashed, and Sleep's half-sister Death, 

Nor Time disturbs, nor Age, nor failing breath. 

While high ineffable rhythms roll around 

Harmonious waves of sound. 

Oh, glory ! oh, rapture ! 
For lo ! the troubles and the toils are past. 
Done are the chequered years of Earth at last. 
The wandering footsteps on the unlighted way ; 
Here the new Dawn ushers unfailing Day. 
Oh calm effulgence from a cloudless sky ! 
Spirit! is this to die? 

167 



HARVEST-TIDE 

Oh, marvel ! oli^ glory ! 

For see once more the lost are here again 

Unchanged in aught, yet purged of earthly stain ; 

And lo ! the saints, the sages, a white throng 

Chanting with accents clear the Eternal song. 

Martyrs of Truth who bare in every age 

The World's despite and rage. 

Oh, vision enchanting ! 
Here there is work for all ; dutiful, blest 
Sweeter and higher far than idle rest. 
Work that exalts the man above the brute ; 
Laborious days that never fail of fruit ; 
Forces that faint not ; brains that never tire ; 
Souls that aspire ! aspire ! 

Oh, wonder amazing ! 

Lo ! 't is the self-same world, tho' seeming strange 

By some ineffable change, 

And such transforming radiance grown divine 

As never on the sad old Earth might shine. 

And hark, the long hushed tones of homely love. 

And lo ! the clear calm eyes which looked above. 

Yea, here or leagues beyond the farthest sun 

Nor life, nor love are done ! 



168 



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